Angel
by hazelmom
Summary: Marshall and Mary start a long journey on behalf of an Angel.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm posting this too early

Author's Note: I'm posting this too early. I'm only a couple of pages ahead of this, and I like to be chapters, but I'm curious to see what interest there is out there. So here goes. Enjoy!

Sheila

Chapter 1

Mary stiffened when she saw her walk in. The woman was casually dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top; her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and her face scrubbed clean. And yet, even at her most simple, she would never blend into the crowd. Every bone in her body was long and graceful, her hair thick and curly, and her skin was a rich caramel color. Against that flawless skin were a pair of green eyes flecked with gold. She was one of those women who could cause the most jaded person to stop in their tracks and wonder how genetics could be distributed so favorably to one person.

Mary didn't like her. She hadn't liked her since the day she met her three months ago. Others, particularly men, speculated that she was jealous of the women's incredible beauty, but Mary didn't care. She hadn't liked her on sight , and it had only deepened when Stan assigned her to Marshall.

She surveyed the room, noting Mary at her desk and Marshall missing from his. She fixed Mary with a look that easily as pained as the one Mary gave her. She faked a smile. "Hi Mary. You look well. Is Marshall coming back soon?"

"He relocated to Brazil," was on the tip of her tongue but she held it in favor of civility. "He'll be back in a few minutes. He's just down the hall consulting with a US Attorney on something."

She sank into his desk chair, her perfectly shaped arms draped over the sides. "It's been one of those days."

"Does he know you're coming? We don't usually encourage witnesses to meet us here…after the initial meeting. It sort of defeats the purpose of anonymity if you're bouncing in and out of the Federal building on a regular basis."

"Mary, did you like me even a little bit in the beginning?"

Mary nodded. "That's a good question, Angel. I'll have to think about it."

Angel crossed her elegant legs. "I'm not threatened by another beautiful woman."

Mary snorted. "That's wonderful, Angel. Clearly, that could be my only motive here."

"If there's another, why don't you get it off your chest?"

"I'm not much for con artists." Mary started tapping her pencil on the side of her coffee.

"How do I qualify as a con artist?"

"You're good, Angel. When men look at you, they see a beautiful woman who smiles sweetly and talks a good game. You're not just beautiful, but you're smart too. You have a master's degree in Social Work, and you're a great mother to those twin girls."

Angel laughed. "Let's jump to what you're really thinking."

Mary leaned forward. "How does a woman like yourself end up marrying to the biggest drug kingpin on the West Coast? How does a smart woman not understand that the millions coming into the house are dirty and bloody? How does that woman justify the furs and the shoes and the private jet while babies are being born this very day addicted to crack cocaine? How do you make sense of all that? Angel, I don't like you because you perpetrate the fiction that you're not culpable for any of it."

Angel sighed. "Why dig for a deeper story when the superficial facts will do? You see only that because that's all you want to see. For you it's simple."

"Okay, fill me in."

Angel shook her head. "You're not worth my time, Mary. Think what you want."

"Ewww! I thought I heard something burning when I got off the elevator. I had no idea there were two combustibles in the same room. For God's sakes, nobody light a match!" Marshall sauntered in and eyed the two women warily.

Angel smiled. "Mary was just explaining to me some of the deeper aspects of my character."

"And the proper channels through which a witness should contact their agent."

Marshall shook his head. "Don't mind Mary. She's allergic to civilized behavior."

"Hey!" He deftly sidestepped the pencil she threw in his direction.

He turned his attention. "What can I do for you, Angel?"

"That thing happened again." She gave him such a look of innocence that Mary could barely contain herself.

"We have to find you a better babysitter."

"We do, but, in the meantime, I have a contracts class tonight…and I really need to be there."

Marshall rubbed his chin. "Tonight's a play-off game."

Mary nodded. "Which you were going to watch at my house, if you recall."

Angel stood. "The short notice is lousy. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm new to law school, and contract language is so dense to read. I just don't know—"

Marshall waved her back into her chair. "Mary's got a pool. Tell them to bring their suits. We'll pull the TV outside and watch them at the same time."

"We will?!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "It will be Mary's way of apologizing for the nasty things she says."

"Hey!" Mary searched for another pencil.

Marshall pointed at her. "It only bordered on cute the first time you threw one. This time there will be consequences which will start with you having to watch basketball play-offs all by yourself."

Angel smiled at her before walking over to Marshall and kissing him on the cheek. "Right now, you are what makes this new life bearable."

He turned to watch her disappear behind the closing elevator doors.

"So you're a babysitter now."

He looked over his shoulder. "You really want to talk to me about appropriate behavior with witnesses?"

…………………………………………………………………………

The energy stuffed into the body of a five year old is impressive. Having two of these perpetual motion machines can be daunting, but Mary could find no sign of stress on Marshall's face. He brought them over, threw them in the water, and then climbed in after them. The splashing and screaming went on for hours, but Mary had a hard time maintaining any level of annoyance. There is something pure in the laughter of a small child, and it was more than a little infectious. Unable to nurture her funk, Mary put on her suit and jumped in on top of them. The game largely ignored, the four of them played until the sun was only an orange haze sinking into the horizon.

It was clear that Mary could keep going for some time, but Marshall sensed the exhaustion in the girls and started herding them out. He'd just finished toweling off the twins when their mother appeared at the back gate. "They'll sleep like rocks tonight."

He grinned. "Me too. They're really a workout."

Mary dropped the towel she was using and faced Angel, her muscles lean in the plain black Speedo she was wearing. "Cute kids." Then she disappeared into the house.

"Do you think she'll ever like me?"

Marshall shrugged. "Mary is all instinct. Whatever it is, it's something she feels in her gut. Logic doesn't enter into it so talking to her isn't going to help."

The little girls trotted over and hugged her with damp, brown arms. "Shoo, my little fish. Go to the car. Mommy wants to thank Marshall and she'll be right there." All grins and ponytails, they ran out the gate.

"I'll find a more reliable agency. Plus, I figure that you'll start getting to know your neighbors soon, and then there will be teen-age girls climbing out of the woodwork for a chance to romp with those two."

"I've never known a man like you, Marshall. You are so giving and—"

He put a hand up. "Okay, stop right there. My guess is that men have been helping you out since the day you hit puberty."

She sighed. "Yes…to an extent. Men have always been generous with me as long as they got what they wanted. You're kind merely for the sake of being kind. There's a difference."

He nodded. "My job is to help you get a fresh start. I'm happy to do what I can."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"You're asking questions that don't need answers. Let's just keep it simple."

"You're a very proper U.S. Marshal, you know."

He shifted uncomfortably. "The rules aren't that hard. Plus, I'm not a man who wants the whole world. I'm pretty happy with the little piece I got hold of right now."

"I don't know very many content men."

He smiled. "Content men don't chase after women that look like you."

"What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "This might have come out wrong, but I guess I'm saying that the men who want you want an ideal, a fantasy. They want what's unattainable."

"And you don't?" Her smile faded.

"I guess I see myself as a man interested in a challenge, but stomping on WitSec rules for the sake of it just doesn't appeal to me. Being incredibly beautiful isn't enough to make me forget my job."

Her elegant fingers slid down his arm and she captured his hand. "You're a good man. I'm lucky to have you for a friend."

He stepped back and watched her leave. He was still standing there feeling oddly unsettled when Mary came out in a t-shirt and jeans, combing her wet hair. "I can't believe you're falling for her."

"I'm not falling for anyone."

"She's not who you think she is."

He snorted. "I think it's safe to say that you don't know what I am thinking right now."

"So tell me."

He looked at her for a moment. "Actually, I was just thinking about how much fun we just had in the pool. I like it when you are relaxed enough to have fun."

Mary was anticipating any response but this one. She struggled with it until her attention fell on his swimming trunks. "How did you find adult swim trunks with yellow duckies?"

He was unable to stifle a grin. "It took some real searching, I'll tell you that."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a dork."

"Well, I try." He whipped his arm around and snapped her on the thigh with his towel. Then he dodged her reach and ran past her; executing a devastating cannonball into the center of the pool. She shouted in protest, and jumped in after him.

………………………………………………..

By the time, he got over the 3rd hill, he was breathing too hard. The sun was high in the sky, and he knew he should have started the run an hour earlier. Perspiration clouded his eyes, and he buried his face in his tank top. On a normal day, he would abandon plans to go the full five miles before turning around to head back, but this was not a normal day.

He shook his wet head and headed for the 4th hill. Images crowded his thoughts of her soft lips and the smell of her skin against his. He couldn't remember how it happened. He'd taken them to the movies when their air conditioning unit broke down. They'd seen the latest Disney feature, and when he drove them home, she'd insisted that the girls wanted him there for story time. Then he remembered being in the living room and she was too close, and then her lips were on his and he was kissing her hard.

It hadn't taken a couple of minutes for his brain to kick in. She was working on his belt, and her shirt was wide open before he realized what was going on. He pushed her, and she fell back onto the couch. For a moment, he could see that she was waiting for him to climb on top of her, and so he turned away, awkwardly stuffing his shirt back into his pants. When he turned around, she was buttoning her shirt slowly, a look of confusion on her face. "I thought this was what you wanted. You sure acted interested."

Marshall took a step back. "Wanting you isn't the issue. I have a job to do, and being your boyfriend isn't part of it."

"I would never use this to hurt you, Marshall, but it just feels so right."

"For you, maybe," he ran his fingers through his hair. Then he dropped into a chair on the other side of the room.

"Wow, that stings."

He looked at her. "I don't mean to be hurtful, but it's sort of confusing to me that I'm not more drawn to you. You have been giving me signals for weeks, and I haven't felt…anything much. I am attracted to you, there's no doubt. A piece of furniture would be attracted to you, but I keep waiting for the other shoe. I should be imagining how we could make this work. I should be imagining you and me together, but I'm not."

She looked away. "I never thought race would be an issue for you."

"I don't think it is. People seeing us walking down the street together are always going to see me as the lucky one to have a woman like you on my arm. There isn't one part of you that isn't drop dead gorgeous to me."

She folded her arms across her chest. "So what's the mystery, Marshall?"

"I think this isn't a case of me not knowing what I want. I know what I want. These past few months have really solidified it for me. You were a big part of that. Here you were in all of your glory, giving yourself to me, and I can't think of anything but…"

She bit her lip. "Oh my God! Are you nuts? Is she even housebroken? You've got to be kidding me."

"She does have rough edges." Marshall had a grin pulling at his mouth.

"She will chew you up and spit you out."

He sighed. "Yes, probably."

"You're positively lovesick."

He nodded. "I've only started to come to terms with it, and it's pretty miserable. Any ideas on what I should do?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "Okay, you just reject me and now you want me my advice on how to get the other woman? That's amazing!"

"I'm going to say something that's not meant to offend, but I strongly suspect that you'll survive my rejection without much of a problem."

"So I am unfeeling?"

He shrugged. "Just very pragmatic."

She relaxed into the couch. "I should be furious at you right now, but I'm not. Maybe, you're right."

"I'm pretty good at human nature."

"So you want to know how to catch the She-devil, huh? Well, You could always drop raw meat by her car, and then use a tranquilizer gun when she starts to feed."

"Very funny. That's great."

"Okay, okay. Um, Mary is a strong woman like me. She probably appreciates the direct approach like I do. So I'm thinking that you should just ask her out."

"She could shoot me."

"Well, for some odd reason, that's the kind of gal you've got a jones for."

"You think I should be direct?"

"Mary isn't going to like a coward, and she isn't going to like a guy who's walking around all mopey and heartsick. Throw out the first salvo. It might shake things up a bit, and she might have to react, but my guess is that the idea of you and her is something not completely foreign to her."

Marshall hit the top of the 4th hill, and stopped for a moment. He was getting that metallic feel in his mouth that happened when he wasn't getting enough oxygen. He dropped his head down to his knees, and took time to settle his breathing. He eyed the landscape he needed to traverse to get back to his SUV. It was going to a long journey, but he knew he had to make it. A man couldn't live a full life, and not have the courage to share his feelings.

…………………………………………………………………………

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

She eyed him warily. "Nothing."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I was watching Bobby Flay the other day and he was doing the most extraordinary thing with Chilean Sea Bass, and I picked up some filets and I thought you could come over…and, um, we could, um, eat fish…together."

Mary stopped what she was doing at her desk and glared at him. "Every time, you have quality time with Angel and her kids, you get like this. What's wrong with you?"

He threw his hands up. "What?! A guy wants to spend time with a friend."

"No way. Friends order pizza and watch the game together. This is what a guy does when he want a little slap and tickle or when he's trying to apologize for something."

"Mary, I—"

"I know. You're a man without an ulterior motive. Right! I don't want any part of it. You are trying to massage a guilty conscience. Where did you take her and those little girls yesterday: the zoo? the museum? the beach?"

He sighed. "I took them to the movies. Their air conditioning went out."

"How many of your other witnesses are getting this kind of personal service?"

"I haven't done anything wrong."

She leaned forward. "Then why are you grilling frickin' sea bass? You must be trying to apologize for something."

He looked down at his desk and spoke softly. "Earlier, you said that an apology isn't only reason a man cooks for a woman."

Her mouth dropped. "My God, Marshall, are you that twisted? You would risk our friendship just so you can get a distraction from the dragon lady. And here I thought I meant something to you."

"Mary, that's not what I'm trying to say."

She put up a hand while grabbing her things. "I've had enough. You're going to have to work out this little drama all on your own."

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Marshall closed his eyes and hung his head.

………………………………………………….

Chapter 2 on Saturday


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the encouragement

Thanks for the encouragement. I am eager for the last two episodes to be good Mary/Marshall ones. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. In the meantime, the drama is really going to explode in this story soon. Sheila

Chapter 2

The balled up piece of paper hit her on the nose. She sighed and pushed it off her desk. The second one hit her on the ear and she gave him a glare. The third one hit her between the eyes, and she grabbed it and threw it back. "Knock it off."

Marshall dodged it, and then returned to crushing paper. "I'm not going to knock it off. It's been a month you've been acting all mean and wrongheaded. It's enough."

Ball number four lodged itself in her cleavage and he threw up his arms and cheered. Mary pulled it out and threw it on the ground. "You're seconds away from a beat down."

"Aw come on, Mary. I miss you."

She returned to her work.

Marshall leaned back in his chair. "This is ridiculous, you know. And you can't keep it up. Our friendship is too strong for that. Mary, you are the wind beneath my wings."

Getting no response, Marshall went back to rolling paper weapons. "Mary, you're like the Antony to my Cleopatra." He stopped and frowned. "No, I mean, you're the…Cleopatra to my Antony. You're the Laverne to my Shirley. You're the Hutch to my Starsky."

Her head popped up. "I want to be Starsky."

He shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry, Mary, but you have blonde hair and Hutch had blonde hair."

She pointed her pencil at him. "Well, you don't look like Starsky."

He pondered this for a moment. "But Starsky had a cool car, and you do not have a cool car. I'm afraid that makes it a lock. You just can't be Starsky. You could be Huggy Bear though, if you really want."

"Are you going to apologize for taking advantage of our friendship?"

"If I had actually attempted to take advantage of our friendship, I would most certainly apologize. However, this is not what occurred."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you don't."

"How much time are you spending with the queen these days?"

"It's tapering off as it always does when the witness and family get acclimated. She has started to make friends at law school, and she got a membership at a gym. The kids are enrolled in kindergarten."

"Good."

"So we're not going to talk of the little incident involving Chilean Sea Bass."

"Never in a million years."

Marshall laced his fingers behind his head. "I'm not afraid to talk about it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you want me to drown you in a bathtub?"

"One day, we'll talk about it. I'll tell you why I asked you out, and you can tell me why you've never given Angel a break."

"You're treading in dangerous waters, Marshall."

He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "Yes, but I'm feeling very bold these days."

"Suicidal is more like it."

He sighed deeply. "My adorable Mary is back."

"Both of you! In my office! Now!" Stan leaned out long enough to shout at them, then he disappeared again.

"Stan, we're getting along again. You don't need to be crabby anymore." Marshall got up. "Oh, and I'll pick up all these paper…ball things."

"Get in here!" Stan yelled. "Michael Benoit is getting out of jail tomorrow."

Marshall froze and looked at Mary. She threw her arms up. "What the fuck, Stan!?"

……………………………………………..

"This is un-fucking-believable!" Marshall paced the conference room.

"The judge should have retired years ago. It was a helluva thing to cover up."

Mary had both hands in her hair. "Let me get this straight. Angel's husband is getting out of jail tomorrow because a senile judge gave a jury the wrong instructions. We're talking about a lowlife who was sentenced to jail for life, no chance of parole. Stan, this has to be a setup."

"I don't think so. A juror came forward with it just a week ago. Benoit wouldn't have even been convicted if he had known about it."

Mary glared at him. "It was the 4th day of deliberations, and the judge sends in a note to the jury telling them he wants a verdict by the end of the day, but instead of verdict, he writes conviction. The jurors puzzle over the note, call in the bailiff who immediately sees the colossal error, tells them to disregard the note, and jokes, that it was a Freudian Slip. One of the jurors is a psychologist and explains to the other jurors that a Freudian Slip means that he accidentally wrote what he was thinking even though he didn't intend to do so. Then the idiots decide to convict, and a juror tells the L.A. Times it was because they figured it was what the judge was hoping they would do. Do I have it right?"

He nodded.

"Amazing!"

"How do we find out about this the day before he was released?!" Marshall couldn't contain his energy.

Stan sighed. "The U.S. Attorney has been scrambling ever since the article came out. They never conceived that a judge would overturn the entire verdict in the first hearing."

"Angel's file tells us a pretty grim story about the first time she testified."

"I know. The U.S. Attorney is very worried that Angel isn't going to take this well at all. Last time, they didn't think she was going to make it onto the stand."

"Two weeks is crazy."

"They refilled charges today. A trial date was set. Nobody wants this guy to have enough time to re-vitalize his organization."

"Does she know?"

U.S. Attorney wants us to handle it. He also wants us on her 24 hours a day until she goes back to L.A."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That's an amazingly bad idea."

Marshall banged his head against the wall. Stan looked from one to the other. "Well, we're going to have to make it a good idea."

Marshall sighed deeply. "Stan, she's got a bit of…a thing for me."

Mary was on her feet. "I knew it!"

Marshall whirled on her. "Nothing happened! I made sure of that."

"Sit down! Both of you!"

Stan got up. "God forbid, either of you let me in on the reason the two of you have been so surly. My role as your supervisor clearly doesn't extend beyond handing out your paychecks every two weeks. You think this is the first time a witness has developed feelings for a WitSec Marshal? My God."

Marshall sighed. "Stan, I'm sorry. It's just—"

Stan pointed a finger at him. "Don't talk. No talking. Only Stan talks now. As I see it, we have two options: I can call the U.S. Attorney and tell him that my agent is playing footsy with his key witness or the two of you get over your problem with this and protect her."

"The two of us?"

"Yeah, Mary, the two of you. I'm not sending him back in there by himself. She'd eat him for breakfast."

"Angel and I don't exactly get—"

"I know. I've been watching this whole sad drama for months now. But you and Angel are going to have to stop acting like Marshall is a pair of Manolo Blahniks you're fighting over."

"What!?" Marshall screwed up his face.

"They're shoes, Marshall."

"I'm a pair of shoes?"

"Very expensive womens' shoes, Marshall." Stan shook his head. "The two of you are missing the point. You're losing focus. This is the big time. Put the petty shit away. Protect the witness so we can put the very bad man back in jail. Understood?"

Marshall nodded. He gathered up his suit coat and headed out. Mary started after him and then turned, "Manolos?"

Stan threw up his hands. "I don't know. It just came to me, but I thought it worked very well."

…………………………………….

Angel muttered a few things, but she seemed to be relaxing more. Marshall sat by her bed for another ten minutes until she started to gently snore. Then he got up and closed the door quietly behind him. Mary was waiting in the dimly living room.

"She sleeping?"

"Finally."

"The rugrats made me read them 9 bedtime stories."

He nodded. "I bet they almost suckered you into the 10th."

"Yeah, they would have too, but they fell asleep in the middle of the last one."

He sat down in a recliner across from Mary.

She leaned forward. "Did you know about the drinking?"

He shook his head. "There's a mention in her file, but she seemed so healthy once she got to Albuquerque."

"She drank most of a fifth of Bourbon in 4 hours. That takes some practice."

"She's stressed; terrified that he'll find her."

"If she keeps this up, she'll have to testify from Detox."

"She'll calm down."

"I bet you're glad you didn't take a bite of that apple."

Marshall looked down at the ground for a long moment before responding. "I didn't because I wouldn't, Mary."

"I'm just saying—"

"No, this is not just about Angel. You've shown no faith in me since she first came to Albuquerque. Am I too weak to resist her charms or too desperate?"

"Marshall, her beauty is very tempting."

"And I'm telling you that beauty isn't enough. I wouldn't risk everything I have worked for just because I'm hot for someone. I'm saving all of that risk for the person who touches my heart, and I happen to know someone who does that for me."

Mary looked away. "She's a maneater, you know. You have to watch her all the time."

"You're just not listening." He stood up. "Look, I'm not in the mood to fight about this. You're going to take tonight and tomorrow night, right?"

"I'm not trying to ignore you. I just…don't know."

"You may need to bring in some cameras the nights that I stay here. You know, just in case I get a little fresh with the witness."

"Aw, come on, Marshall. Don't be mad."

"It's late. Remember that the girls need to be at school by 7:30. I wouldn't count on Angel to be in any condition to take care of it. See ya' later."

……………………………….

The view from the beach house would take anyone's breath away, but as he looked out the tremendous expanse of shoreline, all he could see was the beautiful woman that stole his heart and his life. The house, the view, the cars, the clothes: none of it meant so much that he wouldn't risk it all to crush her. He'd go back to living on the streets he came from if necessary. If it meant he went back to jail, he could do so knowing that she had died hard. It was the only thing that mattered right now. He would do anything to make it happen. He heard a noise behind him, but he didn't move. He wanted his men to know that he'd lost none of his infamous cool.

"Boss?"

"Did you get it?"

"We got a bead on the agent who carries the information."

He whirled around. "Then why are you here?"

The two men facing him were large men who would do whatever he wanted without batting an eye. They could kill a man, and then pick their kids up from school without missing a step. The larger one stepped forward. "Boss, we just needed to clarify…your wishes."

Benoit felt tension building in him. "My wishes are clear. Find her. Don't bring her back. Kill her. If opportunity presents itself, do it slow. Keep my babies out of it. Then bring them home. Questions?"

They shook their heads.

"I don't want to see you again until you've got some good news Okay?"

The way they set the jaws as they said good-bye to him told him that they would have no more clarity issues.

Next Chapter Monday


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I hope tonight's episode is good

A/N: I hope tonight's episode is good. I am all about good Marshall time. I might post on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Chapter 3

"When's Marshall coming back?" Angel was working on her 3rd cup of coffee. It had been another night with the bourbon bottle, and Mary was thinking Angel was probably ready to replenish her stock.

"Marshall is watching my cases. He's going to sleep here tomorrow night."

There were shadows under Angel's eyes, but instead of diminishing her beauty, it gave her a haunted quality. "Could he come earlier? I mean, you and me together has been a laugh a minute. It's really wonderful to hang out with someone who hates your guts."

Mary let out a long breath. "I don't hide it well and I'm sorry. You have a lot of stress right now, and I shouldn't be making it worse."

Angel narrowed her chocolate eyes. "What's the catch?"

Mary leaned back in her chair. "No catch. I've had a hard time, lately, with the attention he gives you, but that's my problem. I'm no good to you if you think I would want to hurt you or your children."

"That's a switch."

"You're the only one that can keep your ex-husband in prison, and it takes a lot of guts to go back there. I respect that. Plus, Marshall accused me of not having faith in him. I need to show him that I do."

"Like I have a choice." She shook her head. "You don't know how lucky you are. He would do anything for you."

"What do you mean?"

Angel shook her head. "You ask him. Anyway, I need you to run me to the liquor store."

Mary frowned.

"You can wipe that little look off your face, Missy. I need the juice to keep from going crazy. I don't care how it looks. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face, and I know what he's going to do to me. You don't know the man, but I do. He's putting energy into my situation as we speak. The booze is the only thing that gets me through my day. When this is all over, put me in rehab or something. I don't care."

"It's your liver."

Angel snorted. "Believe me. My liver is the least of my problems right now."

……………………………………………..

Cathy Hardwick pulled into the driveway of her home. It had been a long day. Working for the Federal Government was always a study in patience, but the amount of bureaucracy lately had been more than she could easily handle. It was translating into long hours which meant more time away from her husband of six months. He'd been talking about kids lately, and she had little she could bring to the conversation.

She thought that being U.S. Marshal meant something proud and strong, but her experience had rather different than that. As a new recruit she'd ended up in the Administrative offices, and her gift for efficiency and organization had trapped her there for the last 8 years. All attempts to be assigned to the field had been thwarted. Instead, they had given her increasing responsibilities to the point where she had become quite essential to WitSec Administration.

The light was on in the kitchen window but not the living room which Cathy found odd. Her husband would almost always be found in front of the plasma screen watching a collection of political talk shows that she found insufferable. They'd had cross words just this morning about her workload, and Cathy smiled, thinking that the dark living room meant that Todd was in the kitchen making a special dinner.

She was barely in the front door when she both felt and smelled something odd. She hesitated, reaching for the holster she still wore every day despite the innocuous nature of her work. Before she could get a grip, she was slammed from the side by a large man who tackled her to the ground and drove his fist into her face.

………………………………………………

Mary sat in the living room, her temper rising to a rapid boil. It was her night to stay, and yet the house was deserted. Marshall had called her earlier and said that they would be a little late coming back from an outing, but that had been two hours ago, and she was still sitting there waiting.

Finally the kitchen door opened and two little girls tumbled into the kitchen, leaving a trail of flip flops, stuffed animals, and beach towels in their wake. Angel came in, smiling brightly and Marshall followed, a sunburn etched onto his nose and cheeks.

"Sorry we were late. My bad. We stopped at a hamburger stand. Thought it was easier than making something back here." Marshall stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hair standing on end from the sun and the sand. Angel grabbed her girls and steered them into the bathroom.

Mary waited until Angel closed the bathroom door. "I've been sitting here for two hours. Just…sitting…here."

Marshall made a face. "I wondered if you were going to be mad. Look, I am sorry. I sincerely apologize for my rude behavior. This was my idea. She needed a distraction, and the beach sounded like a good idea."

"Maybe you're just too dumb to see it. Maybe, you honestly don't see what is going on here. It was a date. You just took her and her kids out on a date."

"Mary, she needed to get her mind off the situation, and another evening of boozing wasn't going to help things. She promised that she wouldn't drink anything tonight. She even allowed me to remove the bottles from the house. This should make things much easier for you."

"And when she gets mixed signals and comes onto you again? I hope it was worth it 'cause she could end your career with one phone call."

"That's enough, Mary. Please tell Angel I said good-night." He slammed the kitchen door behind him.

Mary heard a sound and turned around. Angel was standing there, soapy hands on her hips; the noise of her girls frolicking in the bathtub floating through the open door behind her. "Mary, you're the dumb one." Then she turned and went back into the bathroom.

……………………………………………………………..

Cathy was too frightened to think of a plan. The tone of these two men told her that they would kill her without a second thought. Her husband sat trussed up in a chair across from her, his face swelling up from the bruises. Every time she attempted to explain that she didn't know where WitSec clients were, they hit him hard with a metal pipe. There was no national database on client placement. Such a thing could never exist.

The only thing she had access to was a database indicating which agent each witness had. The best she could do was tell them who WitSec agent was and where he/she lived. She had no illusions. She knew that giving them the information wasn't going to save her husband or herself. They would surely kill both of them, but she could focus on nothing more than ending the suffering of her poor husband.

It was the only piece of control she had left, and she figured that there were enough mechanisms in the WitSec machine to stop them before a witness was actually killed. She focused on her husband's purple face, and mouthed, "I love you." Then she signaled one of the men to hand over her laptop.

……………………………………………………..

Marshall woke to the sound of his door bell ringing. He squinted at the red numbers on his alarm. 5:36 a.m. No one would ring his doorbell at this hour except…Mary Shannon. He shook the sleep from his head. She was ringing his doorbell at 5:30 in the morning to have another fight which meant she'd left Angel and her girls alone at the house. Outraged, Marshall jumped out of bed, and strode toward the door. He yanked it open, ready to harangue his partner, but found two large men standing there. Marshall would feel the danger in the air, and put his full weight against slamming the door shut, but it was too late. The two large bodies barreled through, and one pointed a gun and shot Marshall in the stomach.

…………………………………………………………………

Mary pulled her hair into a ponytail and squinted out the window. On the horizon, she could see the blurry image of heat, and she knew it was going to be a hot one.

"Marshall makes us pancakes," pointed out one of the twins.

"Well I would too, but he used up all the mix," she said as she pulled cereals from the cabinet.

"Marshall didn't use a mix. He made them from scratch. We have plenty of stuff," came another little voice.

Mary groaned. "Yeah, but we're out of syrup."

"No, we're not," they chorused.

"It's too hot for pancakes. It's going to be a scorcher."

"Mary, just tell them you don't want to make pancakes." Angel leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded.

"I don't know how to make pancakes."

Angel turned to her girls. "Do you want pancakes?"

The girls jumped up and down, shouting their approval.

"I'll make you pancakes. Mary, do you want to watch? It's a good thing to learn."

Mary picked up her cup of coffee and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Her cell went off, and she put it to her ear. "Hey Stan…no, he's not here…What happened?...An agent in L.A. and her husband…Damn!...What database?..You called his cell?…I'm on my way…Come on, Stan!...Shit!...Are you sure?...Colorado border? That'll take 6 hours one way…Yes, I know my responsibilities…Listen Stan, he's probably out running. Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be back in a few minutes…You better call me the minute you find him. You hear me?...Yeah, yeah, I'm gone."

She got off the phone and found everyone staring at her. "Okay, we have ten minutes. Girls, put your favorite toys…in this clothes basket." She pulled one off the counter. "We gotta' go."

"Mary!"

"No, we don't discuss it here. Pack two suitcases with whatever you have that's clean for you and the girls."

"What's going on?"

Mary grabbed Angel by the shoulders. "I'm doing my job now. You've been compromised and we gotta' go."

"Where?"

"No questions now. We can talk in the car. I'm serious about leaving in ten minutes. You don't pack, you're going to leave with nothing but the clothes on your back. Do you understand me?"

Angel nodded, her eyes flooding.

"Pancakes?" One of the girls asked, her lip quivering.

Mary smiled grimly. "We'll hit a drive through, Baby. We're going on an adventure. How about cheeseburgers for breakfast and Coke? It'll be great!"

Angel pulled away and fled into the bedroom. The girls seemed frozen, unable to process it all. Mary grabbed a teddy bear. "Is this stuffed thing important?" Without waiting for an answer, she tossed it into the clothes basket.

……………………………………………….

Next chapter on Tuesday or Wednesday


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is either wonderfully dramatic or terribly overwrought

A/N: This is either wonderfully dramatic or terribly overwrought. You'll have to decide. It will be more than a few days before I can post again. Oh, and after Sunday's episode, Brandi and Jinx have been banned from all further fiction. I would kill them slowly if I wrote about them right now. As for Marshall, he was absolutely dreamy.

Sheila

Chapter 4

He opened his eyes again, and tried to focus his vision. Blurry images emerged including the unlikely presence of a hot tub and a bed. The bigger man was seated in a chair backward, his beefy arms folded over the back of it. Marshall wished it made sense to smile because it was a small chair, and the burly man looked ridiculous perching on it like that.

"He's waking up, Idiot."

Marshall was becoming aware that his body was secured tightly in a chair. There was a fire in his gut that reminded him he'd been shot.

"Don't call me, Idiot. It was a freakin' stun. Who knew he was going to drop like that?"

Marshall moaned. From the pain, it seemed more likely that he had a bullet tearing through him. He knew what bullets felt like, and while he was in no state to compare, this pain had that epic quality.

"You set the voltage too high, Numbnuts. This was about incapacitating him not killing him."

Images cleared, and Marshall noticed the other goon seated at a table. He looked down and saw that his chair had been placed on a large sheet of plastic.

"Hey Buddy."

Marshall's head snapped up.

"Sorry for the inconvenience. We just need to do a little bit of business, and then we disappear."

Marshall squinted at him. The whole situation had become increasingly confusing. Two men he had never seen before had showed up at his door at dawn, shot him with a stun gun, dragged him to a luxury resort of some kind, and now wanted to conduct business. It was Tarantino-esque.

"You got some information we need. You give it and we're gone."

Marshall cocked his head at the thug. "This is how you do business?"

"We need an address on Angela Martin."

Marshall frowned, and then remembered where he knew that name. Everything snapped into place. The pain in his gut was joined by a cloud of fear. The plastic he was sitting on was what they were going to use to contain the mess after killing him.

He looked the man in the eye. "I don't know an Angela Martin."

The man shook his head. "I would hate for this to get out of hand. My friend here has a nasty temper."

He could hear the goon from the table stand up and walk over. The man in the chair nodded and the other man slammed his fist into the side of Marshall's head. It felt like his head exploded, and for a few minutes, Marshall hovered at the edge of consciousness.

"Listen Dickbreath, let's at least keep him lucid long enough to get what we need."

"Apparently, I don't do anything right. Why don't you do this shit yourself?"

Marshall attempted to focus again. "I don't know this girl. I can't help you."

The big man put up a hand. "Don't hit him yet. Listen Buddy, this is going to get ugly, and it would be easier if you just gave up a little bit of information."

Marshall jutted his chin forward. "You want some information? My great-great-great granddaddy was a U.S. Marshal. He was tortured by Navaho renegades for three months before he was rescued. My granddaddy was at the final shootout with John Dillinger. My daddy—"

"Hit him."

Marshall was ready this time and went with the punch. It was rough, but not as devastating.

"We don't have a lot of time, Buddy. This ain't no three month process, I ain't no Navaho, and you ain't getting rescued. I figure we got another two hours to figure out what you know. If you give it up, you can recuperate in this nice hotel room. If not, he's going to kill you with his bare hands."

Marshall shook his head slowly. "I'd have to disappoint five generation of Manns. Can't do it. You're just doing to have to do what you gotta' do."

The big man looked at his colleague. "He's a fuckin' hero. Show him what it feels like to be a hero."

The goon turned around and picked up a lead pipe from the table.

……………………………………………………………..

Mary shut the phone and stared at the highway. Her hand drifted up near her mouth, and it seemed to be attempting to cover a quivering lip. She blinked rapidly, and her hand eventually needed to migrate north to scrub at them a bit. Angel watched this, turning her head frequently to see if her girls were sleeping. When they slumped in their car seats, she turned to Mary, "They're sleeping. Tell me everything."

Mary nodded and worked her mouth for a moment before speaking. "Last night, men, I presuming your ex-husband's men, broke into the house of a U.S. Marshal and her husband. She was administrative. I'm sure they assumed she could find you for them. All she had access to was your assignment to Marshall. They beat her and her husband to death." She stopped and took a deep breath. "There are definitely signs of struggle at Marshall's place. There would have been enough time for your husband's men to get there by early this morning. Stan really found very little. He's sending a helicopter to get me at a little airfield up ahead. Marshals and State Patrol will meet us there, and take you and the girls the rest of the way."

"He's sending a helicopter for you?"

Mary's eyes were red, and she struggled with words. "I know Stan. He's sending a chopper…because he doesn't want me to hear about Marshall's death on the radio with hours left to drive."

Angel reached over and held her arm. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry."

Mary shook her head. "You didn't do anything wrong. You stayed with a bad guy too long, but it's the only thing that's going to put him back in prison."

For a long time, both women were silent. A road sign indicated that the airport was only ten miles away, and then her phone rang again. Mary picked it up and was surprised to find Marshall's ID flashing. She choked a little, and then put it to her ear. "Is it you? Are you okay?"

For a moment, there was silence, and then she heard a very raspy, wheezy sound. "It's…me. Listen."

Mary waited.

"Where…are you heading?" Marshall's voice was muddled and slow.

"You know I can't tell you that," she whispered.

She heard him mumble to someone, "She's…on a plane to D.C." Voices murmured in the background, but she could make out nothing definitive.

Then Marshall wheezed into the phone again. "I have to say…something. Listen to me, Mary."

She waited, a feeling of tremendous fear filling her gut.

"Big man, mole, right cheek, hot tub—" The mumbling behind him turned into shouts, and then there was a sharp crack and that phone went dead.

"Marshall! Marshall!" She yelled into the phone, waking the girls in the backseat. Angel turned around shushed them back to sleep.

She redialed but no one picked up. Angel leaned over, "What did he say?"

Mary repeated his words softly. "I think he was supposed to fish for information or maybe negotiate. I don't know."

Angel bit her lip. "The last words were…hot tub, man, right cheek?

Mary nodded. "Big man and mole on right cheek. He was trying to give me clues. They wanted him to negotiate, but he gave clues instead."

Angel closed her eyes. "Tiny…that's sounds like Tiny Litness."

Mary stopped the car on the side of the highway and turned to her. "Tell me more."

"Tiny and Michael grew up together. He was always at the house. Big guy and he had a big black mole on his face."

"Would Tiny be the kind of guy Benoit would send out to find you?"

"I think so. He was always nice to me, but sometimes when Michael was threatening me, he said that I would learn my lesson if he left Tiny alone in a room with me for an hour. It always gave me chills. And the hot tub, that's another thing. Tiny likes to say that all he wants in life is a hot tub and a bottle of Cristal. The guys were always teasing him when he got back from a trip. Like "Hey Tiny, did you get your hot tub and champagne?"

"Does he have connections in Albuquerque?"

Angel shook her head. "Mary, I would have no way of knowing, but if he is staying somewhere, it's a spendy place. Tiny isn't cheap."

Mary grabbed her cell. "Stan, I just heard from Marshall….I don't know. He didn't sound good. He gave me clues before they stopped him. Listen, you need to check area hotels and resorts. Look for someone in the last 24 hours who wanted a room with a hot tub and some Cristal…His name is Tiny Litness…I'm sure he's using an alias. He's a big guy with a distinct mole on his right cheek. Okay? Remember big man, mole, hot tub and…Angel, what was the other thing?...Right cheek. Got it?..Stan, he was supposed to get information when he called. He didn't and lied to them about where we were going…I'm just so worried…This is killing me…I know, Stan. I'm doing my best. We'll be at the airport in ten minutes…Okay, call me about everything."

Mary dropped the phone into her lap, no longer making any pretense of hiding the emotion on her face. Angel's hand gripped her arm tightly. "Turn around, Mary. We'll go back with you. They can have me. It's the girls I worry about. Promise me, they can't have the girls."

Mary's mouth dropped and she shook her head slowly. "Not in a million years. Surrendering you would be the worst thing. Dead or alive, Marshall would never forgive me. Don't even think it. Our lives are only worth living if they are honorable ones. I believe that and Marshall does too."

"But you could lose him."

Mary turned the car back onto the highway. "If I lose him, it will break me in ways that I am not prepared to even consider." She swallowed hard and squeezed her face tight. "Angel, our lives are this work; providing protection to witnesses so that dangerous criminals can be brought to justice. There are no shortcuts to getting there."

Angel leaned over. "More than anything, I wished I hadn't played around with him. I do have feelings for him, but I knew his feelings were for you. He loves you."

Mary smiled through her tears. "We're best friends."

"But he loves you and I think you know that. Mary, you have to know that. He even asked me for advice on how to win you."

Mary bit her lip, struggling to concentrate on the road.

"You're stubborn, tough, and a little mean, but he loves all of it. Do you ever pay attention to how he looks at you?"

Mary shook her head. "I can't talk about this."

"I know. I'm probably making it harder, but you and I may never talk again, and whatever happens, I want you to know that you were treasured by him…in a very real way." Angel hesitated a moment and then said, "You and I would have ended up friends, you know."

Mary reached for her hand and squeezed.

………………………………………………………………………..

Marshall's body went limp, his head under water in the hot tub. Tiny waited a minute, then pulled him out by his scruff, and pushed him onto the ground. Marshall crumbled like a ragdoll onto the carpet. Tiny looked down at him with a frown.

His partner burst through the door. "Tiny, just got a call. They found that broad and her husband this morning. We figured they wouldn't find 'em until early evening. Damn! We gotta' motor, Man."

Tiny's eyes never left Marshall's limp form. "We still got work to do."

"He still breathing?"

"Naw. He's done. I held him under for quite awhile."

He glared at Tiny. "You want to take the time to clean up and haul his sorry ass out to the desert? You crazy, Man."

Tiny shrugged. "It's a nice place. I might want to stay here again."

"Shut up, Man. We're in enough trouble when we tell Michael that we didn't get her. I ain't hanging out until the local sheriff stumbles on us. Let's hit the road."

Tiny rolled Marshall over with his foot. The U.S. Marshal was barely recognizable. His face was red and purple from the beating, cuts and bruises dotted his chest and legs, and yet through all the bruising, it was clear that all the color had left his body. "I never had a guy hang on like this before. He never came close to giving her up. Never seen that before."

"Let it go, Tiny. They found the broad too early. If we'd broken him, it wouldn't have done any good. They probably put Angela on a plane within an hour of discovering the broad in L.A."

Tiny sat on his haunches and stared at Marshall's battered body. "He was unexpected."

"Tiny, I'm going to leave your ass in about ten seconds."

Tiny nodded and stood up, groaning as his knees struggled under his big frame. His partner handed him the lead pipe. "Give him a little good-bye tap. Just a little insurance."

Tiny waited until the man went outside. He aimed it at Marshall's head and then froze. Then he put it down gently next to Marshall and walked out.

……………………………………………………

Next Chapter Sunday? I'm out of town for a few days.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: It is only an anomaly that I was able to get something to you today

A/N: It is only an anomaly that I was able to get something to you today. I don't know how soon the next will be, I am on vacation now, and fly home on Monday. Then I start a new job on Tuesday. Plus I have a large paper due on Monday. Writing this is pure and utter distraction from the things that I am really supposed to do. I tried to dig deep here. Let me know if Mary's reaction fits for you. Plus, Stan is a sweetie here. Sheila

Angel Chapter 5

Stan pushed a Kevlar vest into her arms as she trotted away from the rotating blades of the FBI helicopter. He ran with her to the backseat of a waiting SUV, and tires squealed the minute the doors closed. She looked at him expectantly. Stan nodded. "We think we found them. You did it, Kiddo. Two big guys checked into the Desert Canyon Resort last night, asked for a private cabana with a hot tub, and two bottles of Cristal."

"Did one of the men—"

"Yup. A mole big enough to catch the attention of the girls at the desk; it was the first thing they told us about when we interviewed them."

"God, Stan, this is it. Tell me you found Marshall."

"Sorry Sugar. SWAT is surrounding the place right now. We'll be there in about ten minutes. They're waiting on my signal."

Mary grabbed his arm. "Don't wait! It's been 10 hours, for God's sakes, Stan!"

"Exactly, Mary. It's been 10 hours. We need to do this right."

Mary bit her lip.

"Mary, I don't have the luxury of expecting a miracle. Two professional thugs have had Marshall for 10 hours with one purpose. We have to do this right."

"I've been thinking about this, Stan. They need him alive. They have no idea that we even know about what happened in L.A."

He shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. "Local L.A. stations got wind of Cathy Hardwick's murder about four hours ago. One call to either one of those mopes was all that was necessary to let them know that Angel and the girls were going to be out of reach. It doesn't look good."

Mary nodded, but couldn't speak. She looked away.

Stan opened his flashing phone. "Are you in position?...Good. We're just turning into the resort now."

He closed the phone and watched as she wrestled into the thick vest. "You shouldn't come in. It's already been a long day. Stay out here. I'll call you when I know something."

"Not on your life. I'm going to be there."

Stan reached over, patted her cheek, and wiped at the moisture on her face. "Follow my lead. I'll do all the thinking."

………………………………..

It was wild. She counted representatives from at least four different law enforcement agencies, and when Stan gave the word, it seemed like twenty people rushed the first door. And despite direct orders, Mary elbowed her way into the thick of it. The door gave easily, and then there agents and cops everywhere hugging walls, yelling, and pointing weapons. They were greeted with nothing but silence. There was a shout from the living room, and Mary pushed her way through to a scene she would find in her nightmares for years to come. Men were crowded around a plastic sheet on the floor beside a hot tub. Stan was there, telling them to get back, and when they did, she found her friend, Marshall Mann.

It was bad. Throughout the longest day of her life, she'd never allowed herself to imagine this. The horror of it all left her frozen. Stan yelled for medics and then dropped next to his still body. Mary stepped back. He was so pale, his face was unshapen black and purple, and there was blood. She closed her eyes; afraid that the circumstances of his death would be too clearly etched in his wounds. The sounds around her became distant, replaced with a noise similar to what one would hear from a bad audio connection.

Medics pushed past her, and she found it unsettling that they would be attending a dead body. They pulled off what was left of his t-shirt, and Mary caught her breath. They'd pulled Marshall from his house in nothing but a t-shirt and his pajama bottoms with the planes on them. The indignity of it tore at her, and in a rage, she grabbed a paramedic from behind and pulled her off of Marshall. "Leave him alone! Just go! Everybody go!"

Arms pulled at her, and she fought back. Then Stan was there, grabbing her face. "It's okay, Baby. Marshall's got a pulse. Let them work."

The look of confusion on her face was profound. His voice competed with the feedback noise in her head. Marshall couldn't look like this and still have a pulse. Stan could see the disbelief on her face. He pushed her back and sat her at a table. "Stay here, Baby. Don't move."

Mary felt odd as if she was watching the people around her from a distance. People talked, they moved, but she couldn't make sense of any of it. Then the paramedics became very excited, and one of them began pounding on Marshall. Unable to process these events through her shock, Mary lunged forward again, determined to stop any further abuse of Marshall, but people were ready this time. Someone grabbed her from behind and she screamed. More people joined in, and they pulled her out of the cabana, and into the rock garden outside. Her screams turned to sobs, and she tried to get back in, but people she didn't know pushed her back; urging her to let the paramedics work. Then a stretcher barreled out of the cabana, paramedics working, running, and shouting orders alongside a prone Marshall looking ghostly white and still.

Mary couldn't reconcile the images of an otherworldly Marshall with the actions happening around her. It was as someone had changed all the rules. Stan came up to her and held her tightly, his voice husky with emotion. "They're doing everything they can, Mary. They lost a heartbeat for a bit, but Marshall's a fighter."

Mary pulled away and looked at him. She knew dead men didn't have heartbeats, and it seemed monumentally unfair that Stan would try to convince her that they did. She searched his eyes for a moment; images, logic, fears all competing for a reality she couldn't quite pinpoint. Then her overloaded, frightened brain imploded, and she crumpled forward into his arms.

……………………………………………………….

Mary woke in a bare room with a TV mounted on the wall. She tried to sit up, but felt a tug on her arm, and found an IV inserted into her arm. She blinked repeatedly, but was unable to complete focus her vision. She called for Stan, but no one answered. Clearly, she'd been tucked away and forgotten in a hospital room. She yelled repeatedly for a nurse, but none came running. After ten minutes of silence, she reached over and pulled the IV out of her arm. She climbed out of the bed, but found it hard to orient herself; it was like trying to stand up after one too many shots of tequila. She pushed herself up, propelling herself forward until she could hold onto a doorframe.

Hugging the wall, she maneuvered herself down a hallway until she found a more brightly lit nurses station. Nurses moved toward her, but she put out her hands. "Don't. Please don't. I have to find my friends. I'm looking for Stan McQueen and Marshall," Her throat thickened. "Where did you put Marshall?"

"You need to sit down." A petite nurse gently propelled her back to her room.

Mary grabbed a doorframe and held on, the hallway starting to sway. "Stop. I mean it. I'm a U.S. Marshal. I will have you up on charges. Let go of me!"

The nurse let go and folded her arms. "I knew they should have given you a stronger sedative. You're built like a Russian weightlifter, men's division."

Mary teared up. "They took my friend, Marshall. I just need to see him one last time. Please!"

The nurse sighed and swung Mary's arm over her small shoulder. "This way, my Valkyrie. We should have brought in that horse tranquilizer. When you showed up four hours ago, I knew we were going to need to shoot you up with something strong." The nurse noticed blood dripping from Mary's torn IV onto her uniform. She rolled her eyes, "Nice."

The nurse guided her to an elevator and took her up a floor to the Intensive Care Unit. Stan spied them coming off the elevator, and trotted over to take Mary. The little nurse gave her over. "I'll get bandages for her arm."

"Is she okay to be up?"

"Does it matter? I don't see another solution short of breaking her legs."

"Yeah." Stan nodded with Mary clutching him tightly around the neck. He steered her over to a chair and pushed her into it. Then he knelt in front of her. "You should be resting."

She attempted a glare. "You let them drug me."

"You were in shock, Princess, and very much out of control. It was either this or incarcerating you, and frankly, we were concerned for the safety of the inmates, so we dosed you."

"Is he here?"

He nodded. "He's alive, but he's very, very critical."

She searched his eyes. "What does that mean?"

He took a deep breath. "He has many injuries, and he's not stable for surgery. They've taken x-rays, and 6 of his ribs are in pieces. He has a skull fracture. They suspect that he is bleeding from his spleen and pancreas. There's a hole in his lung, but it's contained."

"How does a person live through all of this?"

Stan's mouth twitched. "They tried to drown him, you know, but the docs says that he's got a lung capacity like an Olympian. It must be all that long distance running he does. In any event, our boy has a strong heart and strong lungs, and he's got the heart of a lion. There's no other explanation."

"I had never really imagined losing him, Stan. I guess I never prepared myself."

"He's going to need good energy from both of us."

"Can I see him?"

Stan considered this for a moment. "He needs your strength. This is no time for your fear."

"I can do it. You know that, Stan. You know I've got enough strength for both of us."

"I can attest to that." The nurse returned with antiseptic, gauze, and bandages.

Stan looked at her. "I'm going to have to go, and check on…so very many things."

The nurse nodded. "I got her."

Stan kissed the top of Mary's head and trotted over to catch the open doors of the elevator. Mary's eyes followed him, and the nurse waited until Mary's eyes found her again. "Listen Valkyrie, I just need a minute to do this. Then I'll put in a word for you with the girls up here. However, if you misbehave, I can't help you."

"I'll be as good as gold."

The nurse smiled. "Well, that's lie a if I ever heard one. Just do me a favor and be a force of good for the sake of your friend, Marshall, and for those of us who are trying to help him heal. Okay, Valkyrie?"

Mary nodded and the nurse pulled her up and steered to a room filled with equipment. A nurse stood up from behind a group of monitors. "What do you have here, Wendy?"

Wendy pushed Mary forward. "This is Marshall's friend, Val-, Mary."

The older nurse folded her arms. "Family only."

"She's family. Trust me on this. She's going to sit with him and hold his hand. She's got some good mojo. I can feel it."

The nurse motioned with her head, and Wendy steered Mary over to his bedside. Mary felt the fear rise up in her again. He looked bad. There was very little on his swollen face that would have helped her recognize him as Marshall Mann. She hesitated. Wendy spoke softly into her ear. "It's him, Valkyrie. Just sit and hold his hand, and your doubts will fade away."

Mary sat slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. Wendy took her hand and put it over Marshall's. Mary closed her eyes, and felt the warm skin beneath hers. Marshall was definitely not a corpse. A jagged sigh escaped her. Familiarity began to creep into her hand. She had always thought he'd had nice hands with long fingers, but she'd never dwelled on it because hands to her were a surprisingly intimate part of a man's physique. She squeezed his wrist slightly and leaned forward, "Hey Marshall, your best friend is here. You're safe now, and I'm not leaving. Do you hear, me? When you're ready to wake up, I'm going to be here, waiting for you. In the meantime, I thought maybe I would remind you of each of the many reasons why the world is better with you in it."

Wendy smiled and walked away from the Valkyrie bent intently over an unconscious Marshall Mann.

………………………………………………………..

Next Chapter Tuesday or Wednesday


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is sort of a transition chapter

A/N: This is sort of a transition chapter. I want to begin setting up the second half of the story. "What?!" You say, "This isn't wrapping up." Sorry. I have been planning the second part to this. We definitely need to tie up some loose ends here. Next Chapter is Wednesday or Thursday. Sheila

Chapter 6

She planted her hands on the glass, and struggled to control her breathing. Stan stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. On her other side stood her husband, transfixed at the sight of his son in this condition. He cleared his throat for the 3rd time in a minute and turned to Stan, "Whom is the woman sleeping on my son?"

Stan looked at Mary whose upper body was draped across Marshall's chest, her hand still clutching his. He couldn't help a little smile. "That's his partner, Mary Shannon. She's been sitting with him pretty much since he got here."

"She need to sleep on top of him?"

Stan chuckled. "She's tired and probably still a…little medicated, Sir."

The man looked at Stan. "How long have we known each other, Stan?"

"Twenty three years ago, you chewed me out when I was new agent, and you were my bureau chief."

"Well, don't stand on ceremony, McQueen. You know my name and I know yours. Clearly, you approve of this sort of behavior in your squad."

Stan couldn't contain laughter. "Ray, in the scheme of what worries me right now, this ranks somewhere down with finding an effective whitening toothpaste."

The woman poked her husband's side. "Knock it off, Ray. You can be such a menace. Who cares what's going on between the two of them?"

Raymond Mann grunted, but didn't protest.

Stan patted her shoulder. "What would we do without you, Betsy?"

She shivered under his touch. "I can't believe we didn't take the first flight. What's wrong with us?"

"There's not much we could have done, Bets."

"Shut up, Ray. We're too tied to your stupid career. That's the real answer. Stan, what do the doctors say?"

"In the last 24 hours, he's really held his own. They're going to do some more tests this afternoon, and if he's still bleeding internally, they're going to have to do some surgery. They're hoping that the bleeding will stop organically. Apparently, that can happen."

"He looks…" She shook her head. "I can't believe how bad he looks."

"That's why I'm glad you're here. He really seems to be responding to Mary's presence, but she hasn't had a break. He needs the other special female in his life. And, of course, Ray, he needs you too."

Betsy raised an eyebrow. "Honey, do you want to go in with me?"

Ray shuffled his feet and frowned at the glass. "Of course, I'll go in. He's my son."

She reached up and touched his cheek. "I know he's your son, and if I thought you needed to prove your love, I'd push it, but honestly, you're not what he needs right now. He needs strength and support, and my Love, you would be fear and impatience, pacing the floors and demanding action."

An Assistant Director of the U.S. Marshal Service, and Ray Mann could do little more than mutter, "I'll do whatever you want, Bets."

Betsy turned to Stan. "Please tell me that some branch of some federal agency is not cooperating sufficiently for you. Give Raymond a problem to solve."

Stan turned to Ray Mann. "I got problems coming out of my…whatever. You want to go to work, Ray?"

Ray looked at Betsy one last time. "Are you sure?"

"Marshall will know you're here. We'll just wait until he's doing a little better before we send you in there."

Ray Mann looked down. "You'll call me, Bets…if anything…understand? Anything…"

She laid a hand flat on his chest. "You will know, Ray, when there is something to know."

After Ray left, Stan hesitated. "Betsy, I won't…presume to know anything about…Mary is important to Marshall. Marshall is important to Mary. I respect that they know what they're doing."

"Don't worry. I'm happy she's here. I'll take good care of her."

……………………………………………….

The nurse flicked the IV line to get the fluid moving, and Mary's head shot up off Marshall's chest. Breathing heavily, she tried to shake the sleep from her head, "What, what are his vitals? Is he improving?"

"His blood pressure is 100/93—"

"Don't give me numbers. I have no idea what's good and what's not good. Just tell me if it's better or the same or…worse." Mary ran fingers through her long neglected hair

The nurse smiled. "Mary, it's about the same."

"His color's better, don't you think?"

The nurse looked at him closely. "I can't really tell."

"She's right. His color is better." A tall, handsome woman stood up.

Mary blinked at her, dark circles etched under his eyes. "I don't know you. Are you a nurse?"

The woman smiled and stepped forward. "I'm Betsy Mann."

Mary stared at her blankly for a moment, and then realization dawned on her features. "Oh my God! You're Marshall's…you couldn't be…you look so young."

"Well, I am his mom, and I thank you for the nice compliment."

Mary extended a hand, but Betsy Mann pulled her into a hug. "Thank you for watching over my son."

Mary let the older woman hold her; it felt very comforting and it was a struggle to not start sobbing out the tension she'd been building inside the last 24 hours. She finally had to pull away before she became a limp, wet rag in the arms of Marshall's mother.

Betsy patted her cheek. "When was the last time you had a decent meal and a shower?"

The edge of Mary's mouth turned up. "I didn't want him be alone…I thought I would wait until…Really, I just want him to wake up."

"Me too. Mary, you look like you're ready to collapse."

Mary shook her head. "I'm good."

"You need a shower, food, and better sleep than what you get by leaning against a bed."

"You're going to stay here with him?"

"I won't leave for a minute."

"I'd like to come back—"

Betsy grasped her shoulders. "Make no mistake, Mary. Whatever, you are doing is working. I only want you gone long enough to re-energize. Then I need you back here. Understand?"

…………………………………………………………………..

Marshall didn't survive a workout from two trained assassins just to give up once he was safe. Add to that the fact that he hated being sick, and it was a surprise to all but himself when he woke up that afternoon. When he blinked his way back to consciousness, the room was quiet. It took a moment before he noticed two women whispering in low tones in a corner. Marshall remembered enough to know where he'd been, but was also conscious enough to notice that he wasn't there anymore.

One of the women turned to the side and he recognized her profile. "Mom?"

She turned and smiled at him. "I was waiting for you to wake up."

"How long was I out?"

"Almost three days."

He shook his head. "Damn!"

"In front of your mother," she joked.

Marshall closed his eyes for a moment. "Mom, what's the verdict? How bad is it?"

She stroked his cheek. "You're going to be fine although I'm sure it's not going to feel like that for a bit."

Marshall's breath quickened. "My witness? Mary? What happened?"

A familiar voice sounded from behind his mother. "What do you think happened to your witness? I took care of her."

He grunted. "Don't make me smile, Mary."

She walked up, fresh and clean, and smiled at him. "I missed you, Boy."

"It's good to hear."

"Stan's going to want to know you're awake. He's going to have questions for you. How's your memory?"

He swallowed. "A little too good to be honest with you."

Mary squeezed his hand. "We got to get these guys. Nobody…I mean, nobody does this to you and walks away."

"Mom, could you find me some water…or something?"

Betsy nodded and turned to Mary. "Tell me when it's okay for me to return."

Mary nodded and then took Betsy's seat. "We could wait for Stan."

He shook his head slowly. "Let's not wait. Stan's got enough going on."

"What do you remember, Marshall?"

He closed his eyes. "They came early in the morning and I thought it was you. I thought you and I were going to have a fight about Angel at 5:00 in the morning. I just pulled the door open, no precautions…"

………………………………………………………

When his eyes opened again, he found another familiar face staring down at him. "Dad?"

Assistant Director Raymond Mann nodded at him. "It's good to see you awake, Son."

Marshall looked around the room, but found it deserted. Ray Mann smiled. "She's out having coffee with Stan. I'm pinch hitting."

"No offense, Dad, but this isn't really your style."

"Your mother's mad at me, and so a little enlightened behavior seems to be in order."

"What did you do?"

Ray frowned. "I convinced her that we didn't need to take the first flight out…when we heard. It was a bad decision. It was really touch and go with you for a couple of days. We shouldn't have waited. It's just that you got shot 9 months ago, and we came and stayed, and it screwed with my schedule for three months afterward. This time, I felt like I needed to get as much organized as possible…You know, Marshall, you really should limit yourself to one life threatening event a year…Sorry. Bad joke."

Marshall groaned a small smile. "Don't sweat it, Dad. You just gotta' be who you are."

"That's awfully generous coming from a guy who never felt he had a choice outside the U.S. Marshal service."

"I love my job."

Ray snorted. "Me and my family legacies."

"Ah…you read Mary's report."

"They were trying to kill you, and you felt like five generations of Manns meant you had to just take it."

"It was the right thing to do."

Ray nodded and looked at the wall behind Marshall. "I…you have to know that you are more important to me than the badge. You did the right thing, but…I don't think I could have lived with myself if you had died because you thought your family would accept nothing less…I wish I had let you make more mistakes…" His throat caught. "I wish you knew…that my love was unconditional."

"Come on now, Dad." Marshall put his hand on his dad's arm. "Listen, I knew those guys were going to kill me. There was no way out, and I needed the courage of my family legacy to keep me from compromising my integrity. I might have tried to rationalize giving them an address if I didn't have you and all of those Manns before me sitting on my shoulder. I wasn't worried that you'd disown me. I was worried that I would disown me if I didn't stay strong. Can you imagine what it would have been like if I had survived but got my witness killed? I don't think there is enough recovery time in a life span to save me from that black hole. I have no death wish, Dad. Just a burning desire to live a life I can be proud of."

"You are your mother's son all right."

"Mom says that you and I are a lot more alike than either one of us will ever admit."

"I should be so lucky, Marshall." Ray Mann sighed heavily.

Marshall shifted his battered body a bit. "Hey, think of something that I'm doing wrong right now. You've had a couple of days to look at my life, my office, my home. Fuss at me about the ways in which I haven't realized my potential, pursued promotions, or found a wife. Come on, Dad. You'll feel better and I'll know all is right with the world."

"Well, I wasn't going to mention it, but…"

………………………………………………………………….

Sweat poured down his face, but he gritted his teeth and tried again. Slowly, he pulled his aching body up on the parallel bars again.

"Take it slow, Marshall. You don't have to get there all in one day." The occupational therapist stayed close to his trembling arms.

"No offense, but I hate hospitals, full of sick people. If there's a quicker way to get out of here, I'm taking it." Marshall grunted.

"You push too hard and strain that shoulder, I'm going to have to recommend two more days inside here."

Marshall's eyes widened and he let his body drop. The therapist laughed. "Marshall, the first day you told me that living a balanced life is important to you. Okay. Your recovery needs balance too. Listen to your body. It isn't only complaining, you know."

"Okay, you're right." He slumped over the bars. When he lifted his head, he saw a very familiar blonde standing by the gym door. He glanced up at his therapist. "See that bombshell over there? She's come to break me out. Don't try to stop her. She's armed and dangerous."

The therapist cocked her head and regarded Mary. "Is she also going to be the one who brings you back here when you re-injure those ribs and start crying like a baby?"

He grinned broadly. "Yup!"

She walked toward him, her arms folded tightly across, and she wasn't bursting with the smile he'd become accustomed to from her these days. He turned to his therapist, "Are you through torturing me for the day?"

"There's some question as to exactly who is torturing whom, but, yes, we are done. Take it easy, Cowboy. I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled at her as she walked away. Then he turned his attention back to the solemn Mary Shannon. "My parents got to the airport okay, right?"

She nodded. "Everything is good."

He shook his head. "I know you too well for that. What happened?"

She draped his arm over her shoulder. "Let me walk you back to your room."

Marshall groaned. Mary Shannon was no occupational therapist. He adjusted her grip so that there wasn't so much stress on his shoulder. "You going to tell me what's going on or what?"

She put her arm around his waist, and walked him slowly back to his room. "I got bad news, Marshall. I wish I didn't have to tell you, but you need to know."

"So tell me," he hissed into her ear. Mary was taking it slow, but it felt like every torn muscle and broken bone in his body had awakened, and pain began sounding from every part of his body.

She stopped in the hallway outside his room, unable to look at him. "I don't have the words…Marshall. Angel is…dead."

He pulled his arm off of her shoulder and grabbed her arms. "What happened? Who screwed up?"

She blinked back tears. "We'll talk in your room."

He pushed away from her, and hugged the wall. The pain in his body became cacophonous, and it was all he could do to stay conscious while he pulled himself into his room. She could see he was struggling and ignored his protests while she gently deposited him in a chair. "How is this possible?" He panted.

She knelt down beside him. "It was an accident."

"There are no accidents the week before a grand jury," he hissed, his face growing red.

"They had her holed up in Lake Tahoe, and she was scared…really spooked about what had happened to you. And they let her drink. She fell off a third floor balcony, broke her neck."

"This was no accident. A U.S. Marshal killed her; someone is in Benoit's pocket."

She shook her head. "Three agents witnessed the whole thing. She was drunk and out of control. She ran out to the balcony, climbed onto one of the rungs, and slipped. There's no way to stage something like that. As it is, those agents are on suspension; they'll probably lose their jobs."

His head snapped up. "The girls?"

"They're safe. Scared, I am sure, but they're still in federal protection."

Marshall grabbed her arm. "Can the U.S. Attorney go to the grand jury without Angel? If he isn't charged, can he get custody of his children?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

He lay back and closed his eyes. She could see he was struggling to maintain his composure. She stood up. "Marshall, I can see you're in pain. Let me help you get into bed. It's gotta' be time for a pain pill. Let me find a nurse."

He shook his head, looking up at her, his eyes red. "Don't get anyone and don't move me anywhere. I just need to be right here for a few minutes. I need to be alone, Mary."

"I did this wrong. I am no good at…any of this."

"It's not you. I just…I need space. I need to sort out this and so many other things right now. Please give me that space."

She stopped at the door and looked back at him. He sat in the chair awkwardly, his head back, a hand over his eyes. She knew he hurt as much physically as he did emotionally, and she wished she knew how to heal him.

……………………………………………………………..

Next chapter Wednesday or Thursday


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I struggled with this chapter a lot

A/N: I struggled with this chapter a lot. I so wanted this to be believable. I am eager to know what you think. Next chapter is Saturday or Sunday.

Chapter 6

Tiny sat across from him drinking champagne and smoking a thick, foul cigar. "You ready, Pal? I'm going to kill you again."

Marshall shook his head. "You never killed me the first time."

"I heard you flatlined at the scene."

"Doesn't count. I was clearly saved."

Tiny shrugged. "I bet you won't be so lucky the second time around."

"No."

"No, what?"

"You've had your chance. You don't get another."

"I got Angel."

"It was an accident."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Pal."

Marshall tried to walk away, but his feet were stuck. Tiny threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You can run all you want. I ain't going nowhere. I'm goin' to be here every night with you. I'm going to remind you that you were begging for your life. I 'm going to remind you that I'm still out there."

"I don't have anything to be ashamed of. I never gave up my witness."

"That was pretty good, Pal, but it's not enough to make me disappear. I was thinking that I could kill that blonde you're always thinking about. I'll do it in front of you with the lead pipe. I bet I can make her beg—"

Marshall yelled and jumped for Tiny, and then he found himself sitting up in bed. The room was dark, too dark for a hospital. He reminded himself that this was his first night back at home. He heard noises in his living room, and his heart jumped. Tiny was a man who finished what he started. Marshall fumbled for his gun in the drawer of the nightstand, and pulled it out just as his bedroom opened. "Freeze!" he shouted at the shape in his doorway. Then light exploded in the room, and he found that he was pointing a shaky gun at Mary Shannon.

She put out a hand. "It's a bad dream, Marshall. Put down the gun."

He dropped the gun on the floor, and sank back into the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. "Mary, what are you doing here? You left hours ago."

She eased over to the bed and sat down. "I left, and then I got worried. It's your first night back. What if you need something? I snuck back in, and went to sleep on the couch."

"I almost killed you."

She shook her head. "You would never have—"

"Stop! I told you that I almost killed you and I almost did."

"Marshall—"

"Mary, listen to me. Easygoing Marshall doesn't live here anymore. My nerves are raw. I go to sleep and I see assassins killing me, killing Angel, killing you. I turn my body, and I feel pain in about sixteen places. I don't move at all; I still feel pain. Startling me is not a good idea."

"I've never seen you like this before." She reached for his hand, but he pulled away.

"Like what?"

"You keep pushing me away. You did it when I told you about Angel. You've never done that before."

Marshall shook his head. "Mary, you are used to me being around for you however and whenever you wanted. That's always been our relationship. You know I would do anything for you. I would've given anything for you to feel the same for me that I did for you."

"You've never said anything about how you feel."

"Mary, you knew. I was like a puppy trying to please you all the time. If you recall, I even asked you out."

"You don't feel those things for me anymore?"

Marshall closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't…know myself anymore. I am so filled with anger. I don't recognize this crippled body that I brought home from the hospital. Even worse, I risked everything, and I still lost a witness."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It doesn't matter, Mary. Those two men knocked me down, and I can't seem to get back on my feet again. Losing Angel was harder than..."

"Give yourself time."

He nodded. "I know."

Mary reached across the bed for his hand. "I'm going to be here, no matter what. I don't care how cranky you get."

"Thanks."

Mary stared at him for a long time, chewing on her lower lip. Then she stood up. "Lay down, Marshall. Get comfortable."

Marshall carefully eased back into his pillow. Mary walked over to the other side of the bed and climbed in next to him.

"Mary, please. You next to me like this; it's too much."

She propped her head up on her elbow, and reached over to touch his face. "You don't really know my feelings for you, do you?"

"You thought I was going to die. It's intense. Your feelings intensify, but it's not real. These are not the feelings that sustain a relationship."

"What if I had those feelings before you got hurt?"

He furrowed his brow. "I never saw any sign of it."

"I'm partners with a guy who is far superior to me in many ways. Not just intelligence; I'm talking honest-to-goodness integrity, kindness, and generosity. Plus, he's a kick-ass tough, brave U.S. Marshal. So when this guy indulges me all the time, I think that he's got a crush, but he can't really know me. But after three years, he's still the same guy. Only now I'm afraid. Clearly, he's accepted me for who I am 'cause I've watched how he reads people and he's good at it. I know he's not going to run away from me; I know he's not going to lie to me. The only person who could possibly screw this up is me, and we both know the madness of which I am capable. Then this guy gets grabbed up, and my hearts drops into my gut, and all I think is that if I get him back, I will never let him go. He's that precious to me."

He closed his eyes. "Mary-"

She put her fingers on his mouth. "Shushhhh. Just listen. Remember when you got shot, and then you pulled yourself up and walked out into the open, both guns blazing. I told you to take cover, but you wouldn't. Then you spent all of those hours with that chest wound sinking lower and lower, yet you never showed fear. You comforted me that whole time. Marshall, I don't know how to be half the person you are."

He reached for her hand, and kissed the palm of it. "You always sell yourself short."

"And you never give up on me."

"I don't have much to offer you right now."

She smiled. "I don't need you to give me anything. It's my turn, Marshall Mann."

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. He groaned and reached for her. For a few minutes, it was the gentle exploration of two people finding each other for the first time. Mary broke away first. "I like this. Let's take it slow. Your body isn't ready for more, and that's okay because I like that we can really take time to savor this."

"You're killing me, Mary."

"Twice in one month. At least tell me that I look better to you than Tiny."

He grinned. "I much prefer your brand of torture."

………………………………………………..

Mary felt his hand migrate under her shirt and settle on her stomach. Marshall was a snuggler; another of the new discoveries she was making. It was their third night in the same bed. Marshall was starting to look and sound better. It wasn't sex that was curing him mainly because it had been conspicuously absent from their coupling. His body was still recovering, but it was more than that. They treated each other like delicate pieces of china; curious about each other, but afraid to push too far.

Mary was very aware that her actions three nights earlier had been impetuous ones. The feelings were real, but she had disregarded all of the reasons she hadn't acted on them earlier. There was a lot at stake. Marshall was not someone she could walk away from.

He burrowed his face into the back of her neck and it made her smile. He had a sweetness about him that reminded her of a little boy. All he wanted in life were good and simple things, and Mary knew that there was little about her that was good and simple. She covered the warm hand on her belly with her own and closed her eyes. It might be treacherous, but it still felt right.

…………………………………………………..

Stan glared at him when he walked in and sat down slowly at his desk. "You're not supposed to be here for another week. Get out!"

Marshall returned his glare. "That's a fine way to greet an employee."

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I am."

Stan shook his head. "I mean it, Marshall. Go home. Watch TV."

"Speaking of that, did you know that ESPN repeats its programming throughout the day? I used to go home at night and turn it on, and I was always a little sad that I had missed the 23 other hours of exciting programming that must have occurred on any given day, but it turns out that it doesn't work that way. Yesterday, I saw the same baseball highlights 16 different times."

"While I am sorry that ESPN has disappointed you in this way, you still haven't explained why you are at your desk a full week before you were supposed to be here."

"Stan, don't fret. I'm here, but I'm not working."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I'm just going to check a few files, run a couple of searches, call a couple of people; just hanging out, socializing, kicking back."

Stan wagged a finger at him. "I know you. You got pneumonia two years ago, and took 6 hours of sick time. You've got so much sick time piled up that I get letters from Washington about how hard I push my people. If you are sitting at this desk, it's called work and I won't have it."

Marshall shook his head. "Actually Stan, I have gone over the employee handbook, and work is defined as tasks and duties done in accordance with agency guidelines. What I am doing is only in accordance with my guidelines. In other words, I came in when I wanted, I will take a lunch when I feel like it, and I will only work the number of hours that I determine to be reasonable. You can think of me as sort of U.S. Marshal free agent for the next week. I am only doing what I feel like doing. I'm not following any of your rules."

Stan threw his hands up. "I don't have any rules! Next week, you'll still be coming in when you want, working as long as you want, and eating when you want. It's what you've been doing for the last 5 years!"

Marshall nodded. "Unfortunately, the employee handbook would say you've been doing it wrong all these years. I appear to be the one acting correctly under these circumstances."

Mary walked in with a tray of coffees. Stan pointed at Marshall. "He's not supposed to be here. Do something."

She handed out coffees and then turned to Marshall. "Marshall, go home."

"No."

She turned and shrugged to Stan. "I gave it my best."

"Both of you are a problem right now."

Mary leaned across her desk. "Stan, don't be mad. We can keep an eye on him better if he's here. He's discovered some upsetting crap about ESPN, and doesn't want to watch TV anymore. He'll probably try to paint the kitchen or some other nonsense if we leave him to his own devices."

Marshall nodded. "I was going to go to Home Depot and everything."

Stan pointed at him. "You're confined to the office. No home visits."

"Technically, you can't tell me what I can or cannot do. The employee handbook—"

She threw at pencil at him. "Give it a rest, Marshall. You're not going out into the field. I don't give a shit what that damn book said."

The phone rang in Stan's office and he disappeared. Marshall leaned across his desk. "Thanks."

She jabbed a pencil in the air at him. "You step out of line, and I will personally escort your ass back to your house, and tie you up."

He cocked his head. "And then what happens?"

Another pencil flew at him. He was searching for a retaliatory measure when Stan came out of his office, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. "I got news."

Mary shook her head. "That's not good."

"Yeah. That was the U.S. Attorney. They've dropped the charges against Michael Benoit. Without Angel, they just didn't have enough to go to trial."

Marshall closed his eyes. "Does he get his children back?"

"They're working on a protection case for the twins. Hopefully, they can keep them out of his hands. I don't know anymore than that, Marshall."

"Marshall, I can't imagine that they would ever give those babies back to him. It's inconceivable."

He sighed heavily. "Let's hope the court system feels the same."

…………………………………………………………………..

Next chapter Saturday or Sunday


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Man, I am struggling with this

A/N: Man, I am struggling with this. I know where it's going, but I'm having a lot of trouble getting it there. Thanks for hanging in. Sheila

Chapter 8

Mary lay on his couch watching Law and Order on his plasma screen. The thing about Law and Order was that you could watch them in any order, and you never felt like you were missing anything so it was the default program anytime she turned on the TV and didn't find anything else worth watching. She loved the leather couch and she loved the flat screen. It was all so comfortable…a little too comfortable actually.

It had been almost two weeks, and they were like a couple of kids playing house. It was novel spending every minute together; his quirks were still cute, his comments funny. However, like a couple of kids they were riding their emotions as mere passengers. There were no efforts to reflect or examine what was happening between them. Mary wondered what was going to happen when the bloom on the rose faded. She knew the intensity of new love never lasted; they both knew this, but neither seemed willing to slow down and nurture it and talk about it.

The front door opened, and Marshall came in with a couple of grocery bags. Mary sat up. "Why are you carrying things? Christ, Marshall, it's your first time out on your own, and you start hauling around groceries."

Marshall put up a hand. "Not to worry, my Sweet, my delicate days are gone. The therapist wants me to start pushing myself a bit. Says I need to start rebuilding muscle. She is very impressed with my flexibility."

"Good to hear."

"Yeah, and in addition to getting a few sundries from the grocery, I also stopped at a drugstore."

"New prescriptions?" Mary asked as she lay back down and turned the volume up again.

"Nope."

She was watching the one where Jamie was Jack McCoy's assistant, and she was being harassed by the judge on the murder case, and she liked the part where Jack told Jamie to pretend the judge was her brother when the significance of what Marshall just said hit her. She sat up again. "Uh, Marshall, what did you get at the drugstore?"

He was stuffing vegetables in the crisper, and without looking around, he said, "Stuff."

"Be more specific."

He turned and shrugged. "I don't know. I purchased things, items…you know, products."

"Would any of these…products be the sort of thing you can generally buy only in drugstores or perhaps, the bathrooms of nightclubs?"

"Yup." He said as he rearranged condiments in the refrigerator to better fit the bottled water in his arms.

Mary blinked. "You are ready for this?"

"Yup."

Then a box of Trojans sailed across the room and landed at her feet. She picked them up. "Extra large? You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"What would you know about it?" He drawled as he carefully folded paper bags for future use.

"We have all the time in the world."

"Agreed. Truthfully, I am only assuming that you are still interested, but I'm not pushing. There are other uses for these things. I think that they would be great hard-boiled egg containers. Just pop an egg in, and twist the top, and your egg is protected from rain or dust or the occasional renegade sperm. I also think they would be effective doorknob covers. Perhaps, the lubrication could act as a furniture polish. If we're smart about this, we might get a segment on Martha Stewart. Did I mention that my therapist thinks I am quite flexible these days?"

"Is this how geeks seduce the women they capture?"

"Hey, I wish I was a Barry White kind of guy or maybe the guy who pushes you against the wall and holds you 'til you submit, but I'm just Marshall Mann. I've never been that good at this stuff. My backup plan was to write you a letter about how your hair is like rays from the sun and that you should meet me in the bedroom for some fun."

Mary threw back her head and laughed.

He narrowed his eyes. "Is laughing a good thing? Are my techniques working?"

"Come here."

He deposited himself next to her on the couch, and she put her arms around him. "Ummm, you smell good."

"I also purchased cologne."

"You just covered all the bases, didn't you?"

Marshall buried his face in her neck, nibbling at her ear. "Come to bed with me, Mary."

She closed her eyes and smiled. As usual, her worries seemed to melt away in his arms.

……………………………………………………

She liked it when her breathing joined his, and she contemplated this synchronicity as she lay with her head on his chest. There were still the faint yellows of bruises and fading cuts on his torso, and she traced them with her finger.

He leaned his head toward her. "How did we do?"

She found a bump on the left side of his chest that was a remnant of a badly broken rib. "Does it still hurt?"

"Yeah, it's sore, but I don't care. I feel too good right now to notice my aches and pains. Shall we return to my original question?"

She shifted and looked up at him. "Do you know how many times I've made love in my lifetime?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Up to this point, I have carefully avoided that question."

She raised herself up on an elbow. "I'm not talking about how many times I've had sex in my lifetime; I'm talking about making love."

He pushed blonde locks behind her ear. "So, tell me."

"Very few, Marshall, and this was one of them."

"Well, that's what I intended."

She looked him straight in the eye. "You scare me, Marshall."

"I know."

"What are we going to do?"

He sighed. "It's a risk, but I know what I want, and I'm a patient guy. Take your time, Mary, 'cause I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't make you any promises."

"I know."

She settled back onto his chest, and focused on bringing her breathing in line with his again.

………………………………………………….

Stan was waiting for them when they walked in the next morning. "Funny how the two of you seem to come in together every morning these days."

Mary put her stuff down. "You got a question in there somewhere, Stan."

"Nope. I came out here merely to direct the two of you into the conference room."

Marshall and Mary exchanged looks and followed. Stan waited until they were both seated. "I just got news this morning."

Marshall let out a long breath. "Just spit it out, Stan."

"The girls were returned to Michael Benoit two days ago."

"What?!" Mary slammed her palm into the table. "What were they thinking?"

"Well, they were thinking that they no longer had grounds to hold the man's children."

Marshall nodded. "We shouldn't be surprised."

"You know, there's no evidence that he's been anything but a good father to those girls."

Marshall shook his head. "Don't rationalize it, Stan. Giving those girls to Benoit was wrong, pure and simple."

Mary leaned forward. "Maybe he'll keep them at arm's length. You know, boarding schools, vacation homes."

"There's no way to sugarcoat this. Who he is hurts them."

"My father was a criminal. That didn't make me one."

Marshall looked at her. "You carried the burden of your father. You fought his legacy every day of your life. It's made you fierce law enforcement agent; determined to counterbalance who he was. Tell me I'm wrong, Mary."

Mary's eyes reddened. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're right. You can't know what's possible for these girls. You can't be so sure."

"I can't believe that you think that they're going to be alright. And you, Stan, talking about how there is no evidence that he was a bad father. My God, he killed their mother."

Stan folded his arms. "Well, it's clear that he drove her to it. The point is that we can't do anything about this. It's done. We're not a part of this anymore."

Marshall threw up his hands. "How can we not be part of this? They were here. We knew them. We cared about them. We know that whatever happens to them is not going to be good. Maybe, they live somewhere away from their father. Who raises them? Who provides a moral compass? Who teaches them to care? Or worse: they live close. How do they not become part of what's happening? Maybe one of them gets a taste of Daddy's cocaine or strikes up a relationship with one of thugs hanging around the house. Whatever happens, Daddy teaches them that life is about being on top; doing whatever is necessary to stay there. In his world, power is more important than anything else: integrity, honesty, compassion. How do we walk away from this?"

"Sometimes we don't have a choice."

"That's not good enough for me, Stan. We got to put something in the win column. A judge screws up and he gets out. Then he sends his goons to kill me. Still, nothing happens to him. His ex-wife can't handle the pressure anymore, and throws herself off a balcony. Then they can't re-charge him. After all that, what's left but to give him back his kids. He can go back to business as usual. In meantime, we got nothing. Correction: we got less than nothing."

Mary stood up and glared at him. "You really think nothing came of this?"

"Mary, the feelings were always there; the events of the last month were merely a catalyst."

"Hold up." Stan winced. "Now, the two of you are acting like I'm not even in the room."

"I'm sorry, Stan. And I'm sorry to you, Mary. I just can't seem to let go of this. There has to be a payoff for being a good guy. The lesson learned here can't be that playing by the rules gets you nowhere. 'Cause if that's the case, I gotta' change tactics."

"Come on, Marshall. Just take a moment to breath." Mary reached for his arm, but he pulled away and stood up.

"I need a little space right now. Please. We'll talk later." He was out the door before either of them could say another word.

…………………………………………

Mary got home late that night. Marshall hadn't returned any of her phone calls. Mary wasn't in the habit of chasing her boyfriends, and she was coming to the realization that Marshall fit in that category to some extent. Currently, he was her best friend, boyfriend, and lover; an accumulation of roles that was threatening to overwhelm her.

The house was quiet, and she was grateful that Jinx and Squish were out. She wasn't in the mood to field the inevitable questions about her absences from home. She didn't yet have the language to describe what was happening to her right now.

On the top of her mail was a card with her first name on it. She opened it.

Hey Sweetie,

Sorry about this morning. I'm bit of a mess right now.

I don't know if I can let it go.

It's like a noise in my head; it's constant.

I need a few days to figure it out.

I want to come back to you.

I hope that can happen.

I love you,

Marshall

Mary dropped in a chair, reading it over and over. One of the sentences bothered her. He wrote that he hoped he could come back. Something about it didn't feel right in her gut. Finally, she picked up the phone and called Stan.

………………………………………

Thursday at the earliest


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: It's late but it's long

A/N: It's late but it's long. I have two more chapters left. My problem is that I need to better edit. I always want to put in too much. I also am in a new job and am busy. Thanks to those who are hanging in. Sheila

Chapter 9

He sat in a car across from the heavily wooded gates of the estate. It was impossible to see the house from where he sat, and he would have gotten closer if he had some idea what he was going to do.

Marshall Mann knew only two things: One, he felt powerless, and two, the situation demanded a man of conviction. He wasn't sure he could be that man. He'd spent 12 hours in the car vacillating from kidnapping Benoit to kidnapping the girls to killing Benoit to framing Benoit. The list went on and on. None of the plans seemed to grow. Marshall was going to have to compromise all of his beliefs to do any of them. He would essentially have to destroy his own soul. There was something of a Dirty Harry appeal to it all, but he doubted he could be the kind of man who never looked back.

He worried it was an issue of courage. A man would jump in front of a speeding car to save two little girls. How was this different? Maybe he would get killed or jailed. Why wasn't he willing to risk that to save two little girls? He found his ambiguity on the issue quite troubling.

More than anything, he wanted to go and speak to Benoit, meet him, feel him out. He wanted to make his intentions clear, and hope that the man possessed the love for his girls necessary to better protect them.

To do this would ruin any chance of surprising Benoit. It was a civil approach best used when all parties can be counted on to act with honor, but it also seemed oddly weak and ineffective which is why he kept pushing himself back to actions that were bold or ruthless; in keeping with the kind of men he was facing.

His indecision was maddening. Finally, it became clear that any action was better than the turmoil at work in his head. He checked his gun, and climbed out of the SUV. Almost immediately he heard a click and felt a gun jabbing the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and waited.

……………………………………………….

Mary turned to Stan. "I can't believe you called Ray Mann.

Stan sighed. An argument now would not be good. He was barely hanging on to his cookies as it was. He didn't care that more people died in cars than in airplanes. There was nothing quite like the feeling of strapping yourself into a plane knowing that you had no control over the outcome. A couple of idiots in the cockpit held his life in their hands. Gripping the seat tightly, he responded. "I am not in the mood for a fight."

"Marshall's going to kill me."

"Marshall isn't going to kill anybody."

"You don't understand."

He glared at her. "What don't I understand, huh! You two are playing house. What's more to know?"

Mary blushed. "Stan, what's happening with Marshall now has nothing to do with our relationship."

"Don't be so sure. Did you really think that this was the right time to shack up with Marshall? The man's barely a month out of critical care. He's not steady."

"Do you think either of us planned this?"

Stan closed his eyes. "No, I don't think that. There was no planning here. That's clear. Eventually, it would've happened. It was pretty much inevitable."

"Inevitable?"

"Please! I've been around the two of you almost every day for the last three years. You think this hasn't been brewing for some time? And I am not just talking about Marshall here."

"I never really thought about it."

"You wouldn't."

Mary took a deep breath. "You think we should stop seeing each other, don't you?"

"I didn't say that. You jumped in with both feet. Climbing out isn't going to be as easy as you think. Just take care. Think. Both of you have deep hearts. I would hate to lose either one of you."

"What about department rules?"

Stan shook his head. "In this office, we follow my rules."

Mary sat back for a moment and contemplated this. It wasn't what she expected.

Stan eyed her. "What are you feeling, Mary? Are you happy that I won't tamper with your relationship or are you disappointed?"

Mary looked away. His cell rang and he grabbed it. "This is the call we were waiting for."

………………………………………………………

The man smiled up at the waitress and showed her three fingers. "Make 'em doubles, Honey."

Her eyes lingered on Marshall whose wrist was conspicuously cuffed to an old radiator next to the table. He nodded at her. "It's okay. My boyfriend over there gets all hot and bothered when I use the cuffs It keeps our love fresh."

Then he winked at the other man across from him. That guy started to get out of his chair, but his partner pulled him back down. "You touch him and I'll set you on fire."

Marshall leered at him.

The man sat back down and glared.

"Don't bait him, Marshall. He's barely housetrained."

Marshall finished the shot in front of him. "Come on. Why do I have to drink this? I am not a good drinker. I like beer. I want a Newcastle."

"Pansy-ass!" growled his nemesis.

Marshall turned to the other man. "Vinnie is such a frickin' poet."

"And if I go to the bathroom, he'll tear you apart."

Marshall met Vinnie's glare. "It's hard to believe that you and I are both U.S. Marshals."

Vinnie scowled. "Hey, I'm no daddy's boy. Ain't nobody going to bail me out of a hole. I'm just a working stiff. You and I ain't got nothing in common."

"Vinnie, knock it off. Where's your head? You don't remember Cathy Hardwick? We were both there when they wheeled her out. Benoit's men did the same thing to him. Give him a break."

"I had to cancel a date with Lorraine for this hump. Friggin' night off and I got to spend it babysitting some director's kid. I do not wish to give him any breaks, Chuck."

Chuck turned to Marshall. "Ignore him. He only just learned about wheels and fire. He's several rungs below us on the evolutionary ladder."

"I'm not worried." Marshall reached over and finished off Chuck's shot glass.

Vinnie couldn't let go. "If Benoit had done that to me, I wouldn't have been sitting outside that house with one hand on my dick. I would've walked in and blown that son-of-a-bitch out the back door."

"I was still working on a plan."

"Shut up! You didn't have the balls to go in and do him."

Marshall leaned as far forward as the cuffs would allow. "I got the balls to do it now, Vinnie. I'd be glad to show you."

The waitress approached warily and dropped off more whiskey shots. Marshall downed his immediately and slumped in his chair. He mouthed "I love you" to Vinnie.

Vinnie was a big man, but he moved with surprising fluidity, and he was up and over the table before Chuck could react. Vinnie was able to tackle Marshall and threw a couple of good punches before Chuck hauled him off and pulled him to his feet. "Get out, Vinnie! For Chris'sakes! Get out of here! You're a frickin' idiot!"

Vinnie stumbled off while Marshall groaned and massaged his face with his free hand.

"You okay, Marshall?"

Marshall looked up at him with his face rapidly swelling. "Getting beat up is like a walk in the park for me these days. Push Vinnie's drink over here."

Marshall downed that one, and started to list a bit.

Chuck looked him over, pushed his drink over to Marshall and got up. "I think we could use a couple more. I'll be right back."

While Marshall reached for the drink, Chuck made his way to the bar, ordered another round, and then called the police. He glanced up as a short man and a tall blonde woman walked in. He didn't know them, and they didn't show ID, but he could spot another Marshal by their stride a mile away. He waved them over to the bar and extended a hand. "Hi, my name is Chuck Humphries. I got your guy chained to a radiator back there."

Mary took her glasses off, and searched the room until she saw lanky Marshall Mann slumped in a chair in the corner. "What did you do to him?!"

"He and my partner didn't get along very well."

"Is he handcuffed?"

"Yup. He should probably rethink starting fights while in custody."

Stan walked up to Chuck. "What in the hell is going on here, Humphries?"

Chuck smiled down at him. "Well, let me tell you. You see I was sitting at home helping my kid fail algebra for the second time when I get a call from A.D. Mann. He's says his son is in trouble. So I pick up my partner, and we go stake out Benoit's estate. Well, Marshall was already there. It was clear that the boy didn't know what he was going to do. Finally he gets out of the car, we take him into custody, and then we invite him over here."

"Was he armed?"

"Sure as shit."

"Did he say anything?"

Chuck sighed. "Yeah, that was a problem. He was feeling bad about his impure thoughts, and was doing a little too much sharing with us. That's why I'm drowning him in whiskey."

"Anybody see you at Benoit's?"

"Hell yeah. FBI's got the place staked out. I figure we'll get a visit from them tomorrow after they run the plates."

Mary put her hands on her hips. "So what's the idea with getting him drunk? Marshall is not a good drinker."

"It's his alibi. The FBI is going to want to know what he was doing at Benoit's with a gun. So we juice him up good. That way he can say he wasn't in his right mind or if he's too much of a boy scout to lie, we have a shot at blurring his memory. Plus, Vinnie and I won't be able to testify against him if we were all drinking pretty heavy. It's inadmissible. I got a squad on its way. We'll have them breathalize him so we can have it on record."

"Not bad, Marshal Humphries." Stan patted him on the back.

"And beating him up?" Mary asked.

Chuck shrugged. "That was…unexpected, but it will fit nicely with the drunken night of debauchery story."

Mary shook her head and weaved her way around tables back to his. Marshall looked up and signaled. "Waitress, a bottle for the table."

"Your waitress is busy…permanently." She stood in front of him with arms folded tightly.

A grin spread across his face. "Mary! It's my Mary! How did you find me? I didn't leave any clues. Hey Chuck, Mary's here! Remember I was telling you about her. She is soooo pretty! Look at her! I loooove Mary."

Mary rolled her eyes as he attempted to get Chuck's attention at the other end of the room. He tried to stand up but the cuffs jerked him back down. He looked at her with rheumy eyes, one of them turning shades of purple. The bruises seemed all too familiar, and Mary had to struggle against the images of Marshall from a mere month earlier.

Marshall frowned when he noticed her discomfort. "You're mad at me, aren't you? I was wrong and bad and stupid and…wrong and…. Are we ever going to be friends again?"

She sat down next to him. "Getting rid of you is not so easy."

He smiled and hugged her one handed, his other hand straining from the radiator.

She detached herself. "Let me get keys for those cuffs. You are going to be one sore idiot when you wake up tomorrow. And hung over? You do not yet know the meaning of a hangover."

He gazed up at her. "I know, but you'll be there. Nothing is ever too bad when you're with me."

………………………………………………………….

The retching sounded in the bathroom again, so Mary turned up the volume on the TV. On two hours of sleep, the actual channel she was watching didn't matter; she just needed noise to drown out Marshall's suffering and to keep from falling asleep again. A knock sounded and she jumped up. Luckily, Stan had picked a fairly good hotel where unusual requests were honored. She took the cart and wheeled it in. Food was the other thing that was going to keep her awake today.

Marshall stumbled out of the bathroom, wet hair standing on end, a towel around his waist. In the light, the toll of the last month was clearly visible on his bare chest. It wasn't just the healing scars. Marshall never carried weight easily, but the amount of weight he had dropped in recent weeks, left him looking very thin and pale, much of his muscle gone.

He glanced over at her, his face a collection of bruises. "Could you look the other way?"

"I've already seen all your boy parts."

"I don't look very good these days."

She nodded. "You need twenty-five pounds, some sun, and a willingness to avoid baiting homophobic fellow agents."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is that what happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I was outside of Benoit's. Then I was arrested, I think. Was I arrested? I remember drinking too much with a couple of marshals, and I remember that one of them was a huge tool. The rest of it is quite blurry."

"Do you remember declaring your love for me across a crowded room?"

"I didn't do that…did I? Did Stan hear?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Stan put together all the pieces long before you became a verbal billboard."

"If you tell me anymore, I might have to kill myself."

She cocked her head at him. "Really? Would it look any different than what you are already doing?"

Marshall threw a t-shirt over his head, and wrestled his way into a pair of pants. He swayed a bit and had to steady himself with the wall. Mary reached over and pulled him onto the bed. "Sit down. Your mom and dad and Stan are on their way over, and we'd better figure out some way to make you presentable."

"Oh God! They're coming? Kill me now, Mary."

She wheeled the cart in front of him. "Watching you suffer is too much fun."

He looked up at her. "How are we?"

"There's no time for that conversation right now." She lifted the platter and sat down next to him. "We have saltines, coffee, water, eggs, ibuprofen, and donuts."

"Huh?"

"You get a sip of coffee, then water, a bite of eggs and then saltines. After a couple of bites, we throw in an ibuprofen. The donuts are just plain old calories. Lord knows you could use them."

Marshall grimaced. "I don't know about this."

She handed him the coffee. "Come on now. It's my world famous hangover cure. Take it slow. Just a sip, and then water. Uh-huh, don't you skip a single step."

……………………………..

Ray Mann planted his hands on his hips and shook his head at his son. "Do you know how many phone calls I had to make in order to keep you from being arrested?"

Marshall squinted up at him. "I didn't ask you to make a single one."

"After 6 months in a federal penitentiary, you would have wished somebody had made some phone calls. I promise you that."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"The FBI wanted you taken into custody. They have the home under surveillance. They don't need a renegade marshal waving a gun at the biggest drug lord on the west coast."

Marshall glanced at Mary and then back at his dad. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't waving anything at anyone although admittedly, I did have some less than coherent moments last nights."

"Ray, don't treat him like he's 14." Betsy said.

He scowled. "He shouldn't act like he's--"

Marshall was on his feet. "Okay, that's enough. There's no question: I wasn't thinking, but it's my mistake and I'll handle it."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm going to see Benoit, but this time I'm not going to bring a gun."

A stocky man, Ray Mann stood a full 6'4", and in Marshall's weakened state, it truly looked like a boy and his father. "You're not going anywhere, Marshall."

Marshall locked eyes with his father. "A man has to make his own decisions, Assistant Director Mann, Sir. I will accept the consequences of this one. I can't let this go until I meet with him face to face."

"Marshall, this is not about who I am."

"I really don't want this to reflect badly on the family name. Hopefully, the fact R.J. is following so closely in your footsteps will make up for any shame I bring—"

Ray advanced on his son, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to hit him. Stan was on his feet and between them. "This is getting out of hand, Fellas."

Ray pointed a finger over Stan's shoulder. "This is not about your older brother. This is about you. Do you think I'm here because of the family name? That's what you think?"

Betsy stood up. "Marshall, that's going too far!"

He bowed his head and nodded. "You're right, Mom. I apologize, Dad. I seem unable to keep this…cloud over my head from raining down on others."

"I have an idea." Mary spoke from where she was still sitting. "I don't think Marshall will let this go until he has a chance to see Benoit face to face. We all know him pretty well. When he settles on something, he's pretty immovable. I think he should talk to Benoit about the girls, and I think we should go with him."

"I don't need a party with me."

Mary bristled. "Okay, then convince me that this isn't about your ego. If this is about Angel's girls, then it shouldn't matter who goes with you."

Betsy folded her arms. "She makes a compelling point."

"This is about the girls. If I know they're okay, I can deal with Benoit's charmed life."

"Then you need our help."

"Mom, you are not going in."

Ray stepped forward. "Agreed."

Betsy looked from her son to her husband and sighed. "Fine! As long as you don't go alone."

"I'm going."

"Dad—"

"Hey! If you want this cleared with the FBI, you're going to suck it up and take your old Dad in there with you."

Mary stood up. "Stan and I are going as well." Marshall started to interrupt, but she put up a hand. "No discussion. We've been in this from the beginning. We have something at stake as well."

Ray grabbed his suit coat. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to have to go and spin a story for the L.A. FBI Bureau Chief."

………………………………………………………………………..

It was an odd group. Marshall led the group, and he kept some distance between himself and the rest of the crowd; it was clear that he would have much preferred a solo presence at Benoit's. The mansion was perched on a short bluff above a pristine Malibu beach. It looked like a dream vacation home, and for a moment, its fresh ocean beauty left the impression that crime and terror was impossible within its wall, but the illusion was shattered with the thugs at the gate. Clearly, they didn't know what to make of this group, but there was enough curiosity to get them to the front door.

Marshall went in first, and it looked like he was going to close the door on the rest of them, but Stan caught and held it open until everyone got in. As predicted, the inside of the house was ostentatious rather than simple and breezy. The entryway was grand, and beyond the black and white marbled floor was a staircase winding up to the second floor. For a moment they stood alone in the enormous room. The crisp sound of shoes on stone sounded before they actually saw Benoit. Anyone raised on the violent gangster film, Scarface, would immediately notice the resemblance between Benoit and a young Al Pacino. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had beat death many times and the intelligence to routinely thwart law enforcement entities. He graciously motioned for them to sit, but no one moved. He smiled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Marshall stared at him as if his presence alone contained all the answers he sought. Ray Mann stepped forward, but Marshall put out a hand to stop him. "I am U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann, and these are colleagues of mine."

Benoit furrowed his brow. "Marshal Marshall?"

"It is what it is, Mr. Benoit. Are you familiar with my name?"

Benoit shrugged. "I can't say that I am."

Something in his response tore at Marshall. While Benoit had been in his every waking thought over the last month, Marshall hadn't even been a blip on Benoit's radar. For a moment, the realization took his breath.

"We're here to talk to you about your children." Stan said.

Benoit frowned. "I don't understand."

Regaining his composure, Marshall began. "I was the agent who protected your ex-wife and your children. I was with them for four months. I would have been with them longer if your men hadn't kidnapped me and tried to kill me."

"I don't know what you talking about, and it's clear that this conversation isn't going anywhere. Let me escort you to the door."

Marshall put up a hand. "Listen. I watched over them, and it was going well. Your daughters are sweet, vibrant children: innocent, impressionable. I want to talk to you about them."

"I don't think you have anything I need to hear. Please. It's time to go."

Marshall swallowed. "They started kindergarten, and they loved reading picture books with their mother. The loved the beach and pancakes. They both look remarkably like their mother. I'm here because I'm worried about them. I'm here because they deserve a better life than this."

"I would be offended if I cared what you had to say. You can see yourselves out." Benoit turned and started to walk away.

"Marshall! Marshall!" From top of the staircase came excited shouts, two girls broke away from their nanny and ran down the stairs. Benoit wasn't in time to prevent them from tackling Marshall. He picked up both of them, and let them squeeze him tightly. "We missed you! Where did you go? You left us!"

Marshall accepted their hugs, all the time glaring at their father. The girls' excitement shifted. "Mommy's gone, Marshall. She went to heaven. I miss her, Marshall."

He held them tightly while their screams of excitement changed to tears.

"It's okay, Babies. Mommy isn't here, but she's watching. She'll always be watching you."

Benoit looked like he was going to snatch the girls away from Marshall when Mary stepped forward between Marshall and Benoit. She folded her arms and said nothing.

"Guess what, Marshall. We just had pancakes. We miss your pancakes. Nobody makes pancakes for us except Tiny. He makes pancakes whenever we ask."

"He just made you pancakes?"

"With chocolate chips."

"Mary."

She turned and he deposited both girls in her arms. Then he walked up to Benoit. "Karma's a bitch."

Before Benoit could respond, Marshall feinted to the left, surprised him, and then took off down the hall at a dead run. Everyone started shouting at the same time. Benoit took off after Marshall; after him ran Stan and Ray. Ray grabbed the phone from his waist and started barking into it. Mary screamed for the nanny, deposited the girls on the floor, and took off.

………………………………………..

Marshall had nothing but his instincts working for him. They had deposited their weapons with the FBI detail outside the gates. There was no time left for anything but chasing the demons that held him captive. Benoit was shouting behind him, but Marshall kept pushing. He skidded into the kitchen, and saw three men getting up from the table. They were reaching inside their coats. Marshall focused in on the largest one and dove across the table at him. Guns were out, everyone shouting, and Marshall connected with Tiny's midriff and drove him to the ground.

Next Chapter Thursday or Friday


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I haven't updated in forever. My apologies. I have been very busy but more to the point, I have really struggled on how to wrap this up. This chapter is unexpected. It turned out that it was the only thing I wanted to write. There will be one more chapter. It will be short, but I can't wait to write it. Sheila

Chapter 10

It was an odd group. Marshall led the group, and he kept some distance between himself and the rest of the crowd; it was clear that he would have much preferred a solo presence at Benoit's. The mansion was perched on a short bluff above a pristine Malibu beach. It looked like a dream vacation home, and for a moment, its fresh ocean beauty left the impression that crime and terror was impossible within its wall, but the illusion was shattered with the thugs at the gate. Clearly, they didn't know what to make of this group, but there was enough curiosity to get them to the front door.

Marshall went in first, and it looked like he was going to close the door on the rest of them, but Stan caught and held it open until everyone got in. As predicted, the inside of the house was ostentatious rather than simple and breezy. The entryway was grand, and beyond the black and white marbled floor was a staircase winding up to the second floor. For a moment they stood alone in the enormous room. The crisp sound of shoes on stone sounded before they actually saw Benoit. Anyone raised on the violent gangster film, Scarface, would immediately notice the resemblance between Benoit and a young Al Pacino. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had beat death many times and the intelligence to routinely thwart law enforcement entities. He graciously motioned for them to sit, but no one moved. He smiled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Marshall stared at him as if his presence alone contained all the answers he sought. Ray Mann stepped forward, but Marshall put out a hand to stop him. "I am U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann, and these are colleagues of mine."

Benoit furrowed his brow. "Marshal Marshall?"

"It is what it is, Mr. Benoit. Are you familiar with my name?"

Benoit shrugged. "I can't say that I am."

Something in his response tore at Marshall. While Benoit had been in his every waking thought over the last month, Marshall hadn't even been a blip on Benoit's radar. For a moment, the realization took his breath.

"We're here to talk to you about your children." Stan said.

Benoit frowned. "I don't understand."

Regaining his composure, Marshall began. "I was the agent who protected your ex-wife and your children. I was with them for four months. I would have been with them longer if your men hadn't kidnapped me and tried to kill me."

"I don't know what you talking about, and it's clear that this conversation isn't going anywhere. Let me escort you to the door."

Marshall put up a hand. "Listen. I watched over them, and it was going well. Your daughters are sweet, vibrant children: innocent, impressionable. I want to talk to you about them."

"I don't think you have anything I need to hear. Please. It's time to go."

Marshall swallowed. "They started kindergarten, and they loved reading picture books with their mother. The loved the beach and pancakes. They both look remarkably like their mother. I'm here because I'm worried about them. I'm here because they deserve a better life than this."

"I would be offended if I cared what you had to say. You can see yourselves out." Benoit turned and started to walk away.

"Marshall! Marshall!" From top of the staircase came excited shouts, two girls broke away from their nanny and ran down the stairs. Benoit wasn't in time to prevent them from tackling Marshall. He picked up both of them, and let them squeeze him tightly. "We missed you! Where did you go? You left us!"

Marshall accepted their hugs, all the time glaring at their father. The girls' excitement shifted. "Mommy's gone, Marshall. She went to heaven. I miss her, Marshall."

He held them tightly while their screams of excitement changed to tears.

"It's okay, Babies. Mommy isn't here, but she's watching. She'll always be watching you."

Benoit looked like he was going to snatch the girls away from Marshall when Mary stepped forward between Marshall and Benoit. She folded her arms and said nothing.

"Guess what, Marshall. We just had pancakes. We miss your pancakes. Nobody makes pancakes for us except Tiny. He makes pancakes whenever we ask."

"He just made you pancakes?"

"With chocolate chips."

"Mary."

She turned and he deposited both girls in her arms. Then he walked up to Benoit. "Karma's a bitch."

Before Benoit could respond, Marshall feinted to the left, surprised him, and then took off down the hall at a dead run. Everyone started shouting at the same time. Benoit took off after Marshall; after him ran Stan and Ray. Ray grabbed the phone from his waist and started barking into it. Mary screamed for the nanny, deposited the girls on the floor, and took off.

………………………………………..

Marshall had nothing but his instincts working for him. They had deposited their weapons with the FBI detail outside the gates. There was no time left for anything but chasing the demons that held him captive. Benoit was shouting behind him, but Marshall kept pushing. He skidded into the kitchen, and saw three men getting up from the table. They were reaching inside their coats. Marshall focused in on the largest one and dove across the table at him. Guns were out, everyone shouting, and Marshall connected with Tiny's midriff and drove him to the ground.

……………………………………………

Ray Mann watched his son dart down the hallway in Benoit's mansion and knew it wasn't going to end well. The FBI had taken their weapons, but he and Stan took after Benoit. He pulled his phone and began barking at the agents outside. A realization dawned that breaching the front door was going to be an issue for the FBI, and he turned around and headed back to let them through.

Stan chased Benoit without caution. Benoit turned into the kitchen and drew a weapon. There was too much chaos and too little time for Stan to evaluate the situation. He lunged forward and caught Benoit around the waist and pulled him to the floor. As he scrambled to locate the gun, there was a dark flash above and he saw Mary charging the men at the table.

Mary screamed at the men to drop their weapons, and despite her gender, she had the ability to stop the most hardened criminal in their tracks. They both dropped weapons and put their hands up. Stan got to Benoit's gun first, and stabbed the barrel into Benoit's neck, for a moment, it seemed as if everything froze, but Mary was screaming at something new. Marshall and Tiny were on the ground wrestling.

Marshall had a fraction of Tiny's bulk, but he had surprised Tiny, and was raining blows on the bigger man. Unfortunately, Marshall wasn't packing much of a punch in his condition, and Tiny was able to clear his head enough to strike back. His second punch caught Marshall squarely between the eyes. Then Mary was pointing a gun in his face and threatening to blow him away.

Marshall pulled himself up against the wall, and turned to Mary. His face felt wet, and when he swiped at it, his hand came away red. She was talking to him and he struggled to clear his vision so he could concentrate, but the room started spinning and he crumpled back onto the floor. Before anyone could react, Ray Mann followed by a herd of FBI agents stampeded into the room.

Ray stepped through the chaos to locate his son. Marshall looked up at him, blood streaming from his nose and pointed at Tiny, "That's the man who killed me."

…………………………………….

Ray allowed FBI Regional Director Spellman his outrage. He sat there serenely while the director made references to his crazy son, the lack of professionalism in the Marshal Service, and how far back this latest fiasco puts the FBI in their investigation of Benoit. Minutes ticked by, and the color on the director's face started to fade. Finally, he was able to take a deep breath.

Ray Mann waited a moment and said, "Are you sure you're finished?"

Spellman threw up his hands. "You have nothing to say about all of this?"

Ray leaned forward and looked directly at the man. "Benoit's been under surveillance for how long?"

The man shifted, his outrage fading. "I am not authorized to—"

Ray pointed a finger. "A U.S. Marshal and her husband were murdered. Another Marshal was kidnapped and tortured. Through an investigation, we identified one of the murderers. We counted on our brothers in the bureau to understand the gravity of this situation; we expected you to pursue this investigation zealously. That didn't happen. Worse, I now believe that the bureau may have protected the perpetrators of these heinous crimes."

"Listen, Mann, it's complicated—"

Ray nodded. "I suspect it is. In fact, I've heard tell that life itself is complicated. Sometimes people murder for complicated reasons. I wonder why they don't use it as a defense very much. It seems that we should be more understanding of complicated situations."

"I am not authorized to tell you anything."

"It's okay. You will be authorized within the hour. I promise you that. If the truth is what I suspect, then heads will roll. There will be repercussions. You will feel this all the way down to your toes."

Ray Mann got up and walked out of Spellman's office without another word.

…………………………………

The doctor looked at the x-rays and sighed deeply. Then he turned to those gathered behind him. "Mr. Mann said it would be okay if I spoke with you about these films."

"It's bad, isn't it?" Mary shifted from one foot to another.

"Is there brain damage?" Betsy asked.

Stan spoke softly. "Let the man speak."

The doctor folded his arms. "Physically, he has a broken nose. I also found a hairline fracture on his cheek that also happened quite recently. In addition, there are several breaks that have recently healed. I haven't seen films this bad on anyone other than…abused women, generally after they've been killed."

Stan sighed. "He's had a pretty rough time of it lately."

"So I understand. Mr. Mann gave me very few details, but apparently there was a serious trauma about five weeks ago."

Mary stepped forward. "What's going on here? You said he suffered a broken nose. Yet you've got us back here, and frankly, I'm freaking out."

"I'm sorry. Physically, Mr. Mann is going to recover."

"And…"

The doctor took a deep breath. "It's clear that he has sustained more than one trauma. Let me ask you this: Could any of these situations have been avoided?"

Stan nodded. "He's been a little fearless…reckless."

"Any trouble sleeping? Nightmares? Trouble eating."

Mary closed her eyes and nodded. "All of it."

"Impulsive? Compulsive?"

Stan nodded again.

"The first trauma was quite a significant one, I presume?"

Mary bit her lip and looked away.

The doctor nodded. "Okay. When I was talking to Mr. Mann, he was distracted. He didn't track well. I didn't get the sense that he was absorbing what I was saying to him. I offered him pain medication, but he refused. I told him I wanted to talk with you all, and he seemed rather indifferent about it."

"You think something is wrong with him psychologically?" Betsy asked.

"I think he might be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Stan frowned. "That's what happens to men who come back from war."

"More precisely, it is what can happen to people who have suffered a significant or sustained trauma."

"He just needs a little time to heal." Mary said.

"He needs more than that. Right now, he's not making good decisions. He's still reliving what happened to him five weeks ago."

Stan turned to Mary. "At Benoit's, he referred to Tiny as the man who killed him."

The doctor nodded. "He's reliving it. He must have thought he was dying in the initial trauma."

Mary shivered. "He seemed like he was getting better."

"It's not constant. He might seem fine for days at a time. PTSD is often triggered by some sort of reminder or stressor. Whatever it is, there's a good chance, he's living with the same desperation and fear that he had five weeks ago. He's going to need some help, more than what he can get in an emergency room."

A nurse poked her head in the room. "Did you release Mr. Mann?"

"No."

"Shirley saw him get into a cab about 15 minutes ago."

"And nobody…alright, thank you, Nurse." The doctor turned to them. "He is not making good decisions. Please find him."

………………………………………

Ray Mann sat across from the leadership of the L.A. FBI Regional Office. He was carefully going through a file. Being an Assistant Director with the right connections meant that it took exactly one hour before the entire Benoit case was laid out in front of him. What he found was worse than he'd feared. The men across from him were silent, but he could feel their discomfort. He looked up after 15 minutes. "Tiny has been a Confidential Informant for you the last 6 months. He was one of yours when he murdered one U.S. Marshal and attempted to murder another?"

One of the men leaned forward. "You would be referring to your son."

Ray fixed the man with a steely glare. "He's a U.S. Marshal and he's my son. And your point would be?"

The man started to respond, but Spellman put a hand on his arm and stopped. "There is no point. This case and this particular informant got out of hand, and we've spent the last six weeks trying to clean it up. We have explanations, but no excuses."

Ray shook his head. "I'm still trying to comprehend the fact that you've been protecting a man who killed a U.S. Marshal and tried to kill another. It's unfathomable to me. It's grotesque."

Spellman sighed. "I'm afraid that I'd have to agree. A big part of our work is making deals with the devil, but it's clear that my people went too far here. Tiny's agents lost track of him for three days; enough time for him to perpetrate all of these crimes."

"Getting Benoit is worth all of this? We're supposed to be working together."

Spellman nodded. "I've received notice from the FBI Director himself that an investigation will be opened into our handling of this case. I have been informed that Tiny Litness will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law A formal apology will forwarded from this office and from the Washington office to you and your Director."

"That's quite a change from your attitude a mere hour ago."

Spellman sighed. "I will admit that I didn't have a complete understanding of how far outside the boundaries my agents went. It is clear that myself and this office have a lot we need to account for."

"If Tiny is prosecuted, you can kiss your case against Benoit good-bye."

Spellman nodded. "We have no choice. There are too many potential consequences, particularly with the Bureau's relationship with the U.S. Marshal Service."

………………………………………………

Marshall ignored the stares in the elevator. He'd only allowed himself a single glance at a mirror, and knew that with his broken nose, he was beginning to look quite ghoulish. It was getting so that he was losing memories of his face before bruises took over his appearance.

There was a buzzing in his ears that he couldn't quite shake. The doctor offered him drugs but his mind was foggy enough as it was without pharmaceutical help. The guard wouldn't let him in to the FBI holding cells so he mumbled his name, and rested his head against the nearest wall. He had no real ideas; rather, it merely seemed prudent for him to be wherever Benoit and Tiny were. Maybe Benoit would let him finish his conversation about the girls. Maybe he would get a chance to start hitting Tiny again. These possibilities were at the foremost in his consciousness.

A door opened and a couple of agents walked his way. He recognized neither of them. One of them whistled and shook his head. "They said you were a mess, but I had no idea."

It seemed a rude way to introduce oneself, and so Marshall frowned at him.

The other one drawled, "Did you come here to gloat, Cowboy?"

Marshall found this idea more than confusing, and he couldn't formulate a reply.

"Aw come on, Mann. Daddy put the fix in. Our case is gone. You win."

"What did I win?"

"Don't play with us, Cowboy. Ain't nobody in this office having a good day."

"Can I see Tiny or Benoit?"

"We weren't ignoring what happened to you, Mann. We had a plan. Tiny was willing to give us Benoit. We were almost through playing him. We had no idea that he killed a Marshal and nearly killed you too. By the time, we found out, it was too late. If we had dropped him, we'd be back at square one with Benoit. We had no choice."

Marshall's head began to pound. "I don't what that means. Just get me in to see one of those guys."

"Hey, your people may have hijacked this case from us, but there's nothing that says we gotta' let you in just 'cause you say so."

The buzzing in his head became maddening. "Shut up and let me in!" Marshall pushed one of the agents. The other one grabbed him from behind.

A shout sounded from the elevator, and Chuck Humphries, Stan, and Mary piled out. "Let him go!" She shouted as she groped for her weapon.

Stan stepped in front of her and pointed at the agents holding Marshall. "Let him go now or I swear to God!"

The agents let go of Marshall and one of them pushed him toward Stan. Stan wrapped an arm around him protectively. Chuck stepped up, chin thrust forward. "We know about you. We know what you did. These guys are going home, but I ain't going anywhere. We still work in the same building. I'm not forgetting you. If you somehow hold onto this job, you're going to have to watch your backs for the rest of your careers. You're gonna' fear me like a bad guy. I promise you that."

"That's enough, Chuck." Ray Mann stepped out of the elevator with Director Spellman. "We got enough on our plates without a turf war. Director Spellman assures me this will be handled."

Spellman's face was ripe with color. He looked at his agents. "I want every scrap of paper on this case open on your desks in the next five minutes." The three of them disappeared into the holding facilities.

Marshall pulled away from Stan. "I don't understand this."

"Take it easy, Marshall," Stan warned.

"I want to see Benoit…I want to see Tiny. We gotta' make a plan…for those little girls." Marshall seemed to be struggling to find words.

Mary re-holstered her weapon. "Come on, Marshall. Let's sit down."

He narrowed his eyes. "They said it was my fault that Benoit wasn't going down. I don't understand."

"The FBI were running Tiny as an informant, even before you were kidnapped. He was under their protection."

Marshall frowned and reached out to steady himself against the wall. "Why does the FBI want me dead?"

Mary tried to steer him toward a chair, but he resisted. "Tell me why the FBI wants me dead."

Ray Mann shook his head. "It was a mistake, Marshall. Nobody wanted you dead. It was just a big mistake."

"Killing me was more than a big mistake. Don't you think?"

Ray frowned. "You didn't die, Marshall."

Marshall shook his aching head sharply. "You know what I mean."

"Doc says you might be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress. The events of the last couple of days may have pushed your mind back to that day when Tiny kidnapped you."

"Doc said this?" Ray turned to Stan.

"Yeah, he says Marshall needs more help than he can get in an emergency room."

"I'm right here!"

Mary pulled him into a chair and kneeled beside him. "The stress is building in you. You need a rest."

He grabbed her hands. "Good. I'll do that. While I'm resting, we'll get a lawyer, you and I. We'll take Benoit to court, and we'll get the girls. We'll have to go underground then, but it'll be okay. We won't need Witness Protection because we'll be protection for each other. We know how to do this. This is so great. Let's not even wait for a lawyer. Let's go grab the girls while Benoit is in custody."

"Marshall, you just walked out of the emergency room!"

He shook his head. "I don't feel it. I don't really feel anything. This is the time to do it, Mary. Once we get the girls, everything will be alright."

Mary pulled her hands away. "Stop it, Marshall! You have to stop obsessing. You have to leave the girls alone."

He got out of the chair and backed away from her until his back hit a wall. "Are you working for Benoit? Is that it has been so hard to get you to work with me on this? Stan, think about this. What if Mary knew all along what was happening. She could've…wasn't I supposed to be staying at Angel's the night that Tiny came?"

"Marshall!"

"Don't say anything, Mary. He's not making sense." Stan eased over to stand closer to Marshall.

"Is that why you stayed so close to me?" Marshall tensed. "Is that why you pretended to care?"

"How could you think this?" Mary's face colored.

Ray walked slowly forward. "My son is having a break from reality, Mary. Why don't you step behind me while we reason with him."

In that moment, Marshall lunged at her. Stan caught him around the waist, but not before Marshall grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and dragged her down with him. Stan struggled to pull him off her, but he wound his arms and legs around her and held on. Mary refused to struggle. He buried his face in her neck. "Why Mary? Why? I love you so much. I love you so much. I love you so much."

It took both Ray and Stan to pull the two apart. Stan dragged Marshall away, tears running down his cheeks. Mary let Ray help her to her feet. She felt shaky, unable to form words. Ray guided her to a chair and went over to his drowning son. He gathered him in his arms and held him tightly. Mary felt bile rise up in her throat and she ran for the elevator.

……………………………………………………….

Last chapter- Soon


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Because I got so distracted with the last chapter, I decided to just get this done. Thanks for hanging in there. I suspect it will be a bit before I take on another story. Take care, and let me know what you think. Sheila

Chapter 11

He'd let his hair grow, and now he was continually pushing it off his forehead. He wore a grey t-shirt and jeans. He felt a million miles away from the Texas cut black jackets he left back in Albuquerque. These days, life never got more serious than the grey t-shirts, and he'd collected a slew of them that he put on hangers in his apartment next to the 4 pairs of Levis he used as the other part of his everyday uniform.

He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor of the office building. There was an elevator, but he climbed the stairs anyway. It was exhilarating to feel the strength building in his body again. He strode down the hall to an innocuous beige door, pushed his hair off his forehead again, and took a deep breath before knocking.

The man who let him in was older and balding with an unkempt gray beard. Marshall sat down across from him, hands folded, his back straight. "How are you doing, Dr. Brand?"

He smiled. "That's my line, Marshall."

"Is this really our last meeting?"

"We'll know when we finish, won't we?"

"That "we" shit always bugs me."

"Why else would I do it?"

"It's been 60 days, Doc. Clear me or crush me."

"I have news from your mother. The twins have a new home."

Something in Marshall's stomach erupted and he struggled to steady himself. "Tiny took the deal."

"Oh, yeah. A.D. Mann negotiated his testimony for a reduced sentence. Benoit took a plea, and lost custody of the girls. Your mother found a U.S. Attorney in Washington who has been looking to adopt. He knows what he's getting into, his wife is African American; it's a good match."

"I missed all of it."

"No, you were here where you supposed to be; doing what you were supposed to be doing."

Marshall looked away. "You hear anything on my transfer?"

"The Montana office would love to have you, but why Montana?"

Marshall shrugged. "I don't know. I figure I can still wear my cowboy boots and my Western style clothes. Plus, I think my accent would fit in nicely there. I still need to find a good parka though."

"Well, sounds like you'll be able to snap right into place, sort like a puzzle piece. Like a good WITSEC agent, you've considered your options, and found the perfect place to go to in order to disappear; hiding in plain sight."

"Sounds like me."

"Stan hasn't released you from your contract in Albuquerque."

Marshall shifted in his chair. "What does he need from me, Doc? I don't get it. I don't remember the last few days before I went into treatment, but I know I tried to kill a drug dealer. I know that I put people I loved at risk. I know I lost all sense of reality. I know I attacked the woman that I loved. I think that's grounds enough for a new assignment. Hell, I'm lucky to even still be a U.S. Marshal. Daddy probably fixed that for me too."

"Your dad had nothing to do with this. I make the determinations as to who gets cleared for service and who doesn't."

"Why won't Stan let me go?"

"He says you're not finished there."

Marshall looked down. "I can't face her. I put her through so much. When I think of all the things I did, things I said…I…I can't do it."

"You care for her?"

"Yes, I care for her."

"Talk to her."

"She never felt for me…I don't think she felt what I did for her. Everything in my heart tells me she's…Do I have to solve this in order to go back to work? I just need some peace in my life. I need to be away from all of it."

"You're running."

"Sure, I do six miles every morning." Marshall sighed. "That's not what you're asking. Yeah, I'm running. Would you not be running if my story was yours? I went crazy, for Christ's sakes."

"And that's where I get stuck, Marshall. This is where I get reluctant to release you from our therapy. You didn't go crazy. You had Post Traumatic Stress and you had a reaction, a big one. You disassociated. It happens. People under great stress decompensate; they can lose sense of reality under the right trigger. It's not a sign of weakness."

Marshall sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Dr. Brand leaned forward. "You spent a day waiting to die. They tried to beat you to death. They tried to drown you. You lost your client. You worried about the well-being of your client's daughters and you became obsessed. You lost sense of your safety. The FBI screwed up royally. I remember the first time I saw you in the hospital: broken nose, bruised face, and 25 lbs. underweight. You couldn't tell me the day of the week. You couldn't tell me what month it was. You thought the woman you loved was part of a plot to kill you."

"Thanks. Were you worried I would forget all that? You've spent a helluva lot of time outlining it for me these last two months."

"I don't want you to forget it. You can't forget it, but you need to understand it."

Marshall got up and started pacing the small office. "I'm trying so hard, Brand. I feel better. No bruises. I'm gaining weight, getting sun. I'm ready. Please, I need to work. I need to be a Marshal again."

"Then stop fighting me. It happened. You can't run from it. You want to go to Montana? Great. First, you go to Albuquerque. Say good-bye. It's a Friday today. You go down tonight, and take care of business. Then you come back here on Monday, and I'll sign the paperwork for Montana. You can start your new life."

Marshall hit the wall with the heel of his hand and shook his head. He saw the door and slammed it as he stormed out.

……………………………………………………….

It took connecting flights, and it wasn't until 9 p.m. on a Friday night that he walked into the U.S. Marshal Offices. The lights were dim in the office, and he imagined Stan and Mary in their homes for the night. The offices were a good place for him to start. Nothing had happened in the offices. There were no memories here that made him shudder. He sat down in Mary's chair and closed his eyes. For a moment he convinced that the smell of her still lingered in the air.

As usual, her desk was a mess, and he had to restrain himself from digging through it, savoring the evidence of her presence, but he didn't; it felt like a betrayal to do that to her. He thought about the day he'd asked her out and she'd blown him off. Then he remembered they day they were truly together, and he'd been distracted by thoughts of her smooth skin then; until Stan came in and told them that Benoit had gained custody of the girls. It was this moment that the memories started to fade, replaced with a growing obsession with Benoit's children. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Behind him the elevator sounded, and he jumped to his feet. Stan walked into the office, his eyes on a file in his hands.

"You're here late."

Stan looked up in surprise. "I expected you earlier."

"Flights…I suppose Brand called you."

Stan nodded. "I was worried—"

"That I wouldn't show. Honestly, I did look for a way out. I want to forget everything but Brand won't let me."

Stan put down the file and sat down across from him. "Is forgetting the smart thing to do?"

Marshall smiled. "No."

Stan nodded. "How's it going so far?"

"I miss her…so much."

"You never returned her calls, her letters."

"I know."

"You really want to go to Montana?"

"I need a change."

"Sounds great." Stan got up. "Let me go grab the paperwork. I'll give it my signature, and you can take an early morning flight out of here."

He disappeared into his office. When he came back out, Mary's desk was empty and the elevator door was closing. He sighed deeply, dropped the transfer paperwork onto a table, and reached for his phone.

……………………………………….

He pushed the hotel card into the door and pushed it open. It took him a few moments to settle his breathing before he could walk in. It was surprisingly different than the room he remembered. The smell of chlorine from the hot tub hit him and he remembered the warm water climbing into his nostrils when they forced his head in and out over and over. He backed away into the table where Tiny's partner sat with the lead pipe. He pushed away and saw what looked like the armchair he'd been tied to. It was clean, and for a moment, he thought that the resort had been smart enough to bring in new furniture. Then he spied the dent in the leg where the lead pipe hit. He knelt down to study it, and realized that all they had done was repaint the chair. Words started piling in his head: the brave speech he made when he knew there was nothing left but to die with dignity, his refusal to give up his client. All of it came rushing back, and he sat down to get centered again. He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands.

………………………………………….

There was a tremendous pounding at the door. Marshall lurched out of the bed and to the door. He peaked through the hole and his breath caught. For a moment, he considered not opening the door. Then common sense kicked in, he unlocked the door, and stood back. She came through in a rush, walking past him and then whirling around. "Who the hell thinks this is a good idea?! I know your therapist doesn't. For God's sakes, Marshall."

He scratched his head. "How did you find me?"

"You're kidding, right? You come in tonight. Stan calls to tell me. I go over to your place and nothing. Squish reports no sightings at my house. Then I start driving around. It took me four hours to come up with this."

"I fell asleep."

"Give the man a prize!"

"I was going to make it through the night."

"So what! What's wrong with you?"

"I was going to come see you in the morning. I just wanted to know how strong I was."

Mary covered her face with her hand, and he waited for the explosion. What came were tears, rivers of them. "Do you think you're the only one with memories of this room?"

Marshall froze.

"Do you think I want to be here? I hate this room. I hate the memories in this room. You thought you were going to die? Well, I saw you dead on the floor; at least I thought you were." She pointed at a spot on the carpet. "Right there."

"I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't…I should've realized that Stan would call you. I should've known you'd come looking…"

"You didn't call me…ever. And you want to go to Montana?"

Marshall took a step forward. "Can I explain?"

"Not here, Marshall. For God sakes, don't talk to me here."

Marshall nodded. Tentatively, he reached out, pulled her in, and rocked her. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I'm so sorry."

………………………………………..

He followed her into his apartment. He was surprised to see laundry folded on the kitchen table. There were fresh flowers on the table. Mary winced. "Your TV's better than mine. The flowers…I don't know. I just got them. No explanation."

Marshall sat down on the couch. "You know, you get so wrapped up in your problems, and you stop seeing anything but…your problems. How have you been?"

Mary sat on the other end of the couch. "And if I tell you? I have waited so long for you to be okay. I wrote to you and I heard nothing back. I called and you never called me back. The next thing I know you are formally requesting a transfer to Montana. I don't know that you get a free pass into the inner workings of my emotions right now. Why don't you start with your explanation."

Marshall looked down at the floor. "I deserve that. I guess I've had some trouble coming to terms with what happened especially after I started to lose sense of reality. I attacked you, I'm told. I accused you of conspiring against me. It's only providence that I don't have the actual memories of these things."

Mary chewed on her lower lip. "This is not an explanation…yet."

"Despite what you have heard, I'm not a brave guy. I was having trouble coming to terms with what happened, and I couldn't imagine that you would experience anything but relief at the idea that I was going elsewhere."

She shook her head. "That's pretty weak, Marshall."

"Yeah, I imagine it is. My doc figured that out too, and sent me here to come to grips with it. I was in the office last night when I realized what a coward I was."

"Yeah, it's good that you know that. It was pretty rough for me. We got involved, and we weren't really ready. You kept sinking, and there didn't seem to be a single thing I could do about it. You're not the only one seeing a therapist. Stan pushed me into it, but I'm glad now that he did. It's been good for me."

"I don't want to leave Albuquerque. I don't want to leave you or Stan. I just can't figure how to make it what it was."

"I guess we both know that ship has sailed."

"What if I came back here and found that you and I can't…"

"You don't think I haven't been fearing the same thing?"

Marshall sat back and let out a deep breath. "The truth is that I have missed you terribly and I'm scared."

"If you went to Montana, you would still miss me, but—"

"You wouldn't have rejected me. Maybe, it would give me time to regroup."

"Montana isn't the answer. You and me…here, talking; that's the answer."

"Okay, so you've been doing my laundry—"

Mary let out a breath. "Yeah, because of the TV. I feel better about watching it if I'm doing something. You had a lot of dirty laundry."

"You were hoping I would come back?"

"Marshall, you had a PTSD reaction. I don't have to personalize anything that you did…although I did personalize it when you declared your love across a crowded bar."

A smile curled on his face. "I guess I'm sorry I don't remember that much."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"A fella' like me doesn't get there easy, and getting rid of it ain't easy either."

"Are you trying?"

"Mary, I don't know how I would ever rid of my love for you. That's the truth."

Mary smiled. "And you said you weren't brave."

"You going to sit there like a Cheshire cat or do I get to know what you feel?"

"Marshall, you really look good. You look strong, healthy. Your eyes look clear."

"And you look like someone unable to answer the most important question in my world."

Mary slid over and took his hand, and he could feel hers trembling. "I've missed you badly. Without you, I feel unfinished. I'm scared that this is the unhealthy thing to say, but…I love you too."

He wrapped his arms around her. "Hey now, it's okay. I think I can live with that answer."

"We're going to screw this up again."

"Shhhh!" He whispered in her ear. "Not a chance, Dollface. Both of us are walking on two feet these days. We take it slow. We talk to our shrinks. How can this bad when it feels so right?"

"We could try to go back to just being best friends."

He looked her in the face. "Is that what you want?"

"We'd be pretending."

"Okay, so let's not pretend." He rested his head on her bosom, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

……………………………………………………..

On Monday morning, Marshall woke early. He was entwined with another body both delicate and fierce. She snored softly into the pillow, her hair draped across her face. He untangled a hand, and reached over to carefully pull the hair behind her ear. She never really liked it when he did that, and even in her sleep, she would shake the hair loose again. It didn't matter to him. He loved watching her willfulness play itself out over and over again. He might have fun teasing her, but he never wanted to break her spirit. It was one of the loveliest things about her. It took a few minutes, but he was finally able to detach himself without waking her.

He stepped softly into the living room. Luckily, all the clean laundry on the kitchen table meant that he didn't need to go back in for clothes. He found a t-shirt, some socks, and a pair of running shorts. His good running shoes were in the hall closet. He was ready to head out into early morning sun when he spotted his phone. He picked it up and hit a number. "Hey Doc, I'm sure you're still sleeping. I was just calling to tell you that you're a genius. I'm going to write a letter. See if I can get you a raise. Do me a favor and tear up all that Montana paperwork. I'm not going anywhere. It turns out you can go home again."

………………………………………………..

The End


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